


At the Edge, Alone, and Burning

by Ben_Solo_Good_Boy_Sweater_Emporium



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe, Cameos, Coastal Maine, Cottagecore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, For once: quick romance, Gossip, Happy Ending, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Just Married, Light Angst, Lighthouses, Loss of Parent(s), Orphanage, POV Rey (Star Wars), Post-War, Romance, Small Towns, Soft Ben Solo, Star Wars References, The Lighthouse is a Metaphor, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29400936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ben_Solo_Good_Boy_Sweater_Emporium/pseuds/Ben_Solo_Good_Boy_Sweater_Emporium
Summary: Happy one-year AO3 anniversary to me!Here is my "Taylor Swift album drop" of a gift: a completed story posted all at once.Orphan Rey meets WWI veteran Ben in a 1920ish coastal Maine town.Also, there's a lighthouse.(I didn't say it was good. I just said it was complete.)
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 147
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me: “I’m just writing for fun. No getting bogged down in ridiculous research.”
> 
> Me [two hours later]: “Yes, yes, but what was a typical _winter_ breakfast at a New York City orphanage in the 1910s?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many, many thanks to [Impossiblefangirl0632](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impossiblefangirl0632/pseuds/Impossiblefangirl0632) for the absolutely stunning mood board. I seriously want to cry every time I look at it. <3

_Some days I’m the ocean. Some days I’m the ship._

_Tonight I’m the lighthouse: at the edge, alone, and burning._

~Vasiliki

The pretty dress was spoiled. Though, honestly, it wasn’t _that_ pretty. Possibly it had been once, before the collar was turned and the elbows wore nearly through. It was still the nicest thing Rey had worn. She didn’t think of it as something she owned. She had never owned anything, not really. Everything was charity, a hand-me-down, something discarded because it was no longer wanted. Like her.

It looked appealing enough when Miss Emmie offered it, clean and smartly pressed with an actual iron. She had even used a sprinkle of starch, knowing how long the train ride was going to last. Starch would keep the creases at bay, she told Rey, though why such a thing mattered in the least, she didn’t explain.

The fabric was threadbare but soft, little clusters of yellow flowers on a green background. It didn’t fit properly—she was too tall for a girl, the doctor who visited the home said so every year—and no one would mistake it for stylish. It was more becoming, at least, than the plain brown sacks she was used to wearing. She felt nearly grown up sitting in the carriage, careful to keep her posture ramrod straight, determined not to disgrace Miss Emmie or make her regret her act of kindness.

But the starch was no match for endless hours on a hard bench seat and the soot from the smokestack blew in the window-tops, dirtying everything. She somehow managed to drop the ham sandwich so carefully wrapped in wax paper, which left her both hungry and with an obvious stain on her skirt. She might have eaten it, despite the state of the floor, if the conductor hadn’t given her a look of contempt. _Stupid and clumsy. Good for nothing._ Was it any wonder no one had the slightest use for her?

Never in her life had Rey ventured outside the city. Stepping onto the platform of the tiny station, it was obvious how unfamiliar she was with the wider world. The two passengers disembarking with her hurried off together, leaving her entirely alone once the train pulled away. A mangy dog lay in the sun on the opposite side of the tracks; it paid her no more attention than people generally did. After a while, she perched carefully on the station steps, trying to brush what grime she could from the cloth, hoping against hope she hadn’t been forgotten.

The day was warm enough, but it was chilly in the shade of the overhang. There was no station manager on duty. The only movement at all on the platform was the swaying of the sign hanging overhead, evidence she had stopped in the right place. _Welcome to Aurellia_ , it read, peeling black letters on a faded background. Another sign helpfully pointed the way to a ticket gate, shuttered and padlocked, while a third informed travelers that Western Union telegram services were (occasionally) available.

She might make her way into the village but that would surely mean speaking to strangers, and she didn’t mean to do it unless it proved unavoidable. The emptiness in her stomach was gnawing, though, and sooner or later nature would call in a fashion that could not be ignored. Just as she was assessing which patch of grass on the adjoining hillside would be best for sleeping, she heard brisk steps skirting around the building.

“Mercy, look at the time! Since when has that train _ever_ been early? Of course, today would be the day. I started out as soon as I heard the whistle but I’m not as young as I used to be. Well then, girl, stand up straight and let me look at you.” Each word tumbled out on top of its forerunner. The woman in front of her was tiny, a full head shorter, dressed in bright colors and an altogether outlandish feathered hat. Both of her arms tinkled pleasantly with the melody of a half-dozen bangles. It was the sort of outfit that would not look too out of place in the city but surprised Rey immensely here in the middle of nowhere.

The older woman adjusted enormous, horn-rimmed spectacles higher on her nose and peered closely. “Emmie wrote you were tall and sturdy, used to hard work. A bit too skinny from the looks of things but we can fix that soon enough. Tell me your name, girl, so we can be properly introduced.”

“It’s Rey, ma’am,” she said softly.

The woman pursed her lips disapprovingly. “You’ll have to speak up, child. I’m a thousand years old, as you can see, and my ears don’t work all that well. No muttering, please.”

“Rey,” she repeated more loudly.

“Unusual name.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she agreed, without offering further explanation. There was no call to give up her most private history to a person she had only just met. If things worked out, if she lasted here and grew closer to this odd lady, she might someday share that the letters “REY,” written on a curl of paper and pinned to her jacket, were the only clue to her identity when she was left at the orphanage door. She might even add that by the time they found her, cold and wet the next morning, the paper was torn. Miss Emmie came years after and she guessed that “Audrey” was the name the girl was always intended to have, but by then it was too late. Rey was the one that stuck.

“Do you know your family name?”

She felt her cheeks burn in shame. “No, ma’am. The home recorded me as Rey Johnson, so that’s the name I’ll use here, I expect.”

“I expect so. Well then, welcome to Aurellia, Miss Rey Johnson. I am Mrs. Kanata but everyone in these parts calls me Auntie Maz and you should, too. I imagine you must be weary and famished after such a protracted journey. Follow me, now.” She beckoned with a musical wrist and quick as a flash, disappeared around the station.

Despite the difference in their heights, Rey had to hurry to keep up, clutching the battered travel case donated by the home. The woman maintained a pace all out of keeping with her age and stature; the only thing faster was the speed of her speech. “I imagine this is quite different to city living, eh Miss Rey? It isn’t much to look at but it’s a good community full of decent people. From what my sister has told me about you in her letters, you should do well here.”

They walked down a shady road lined with small, tidy houses. There were trees in every direction, a dizzying collection of greens. More than one residence had a neat little kitchen garden being tended by the lady of the house, each looking up with undisguised curiosity as they passed. Mrs. Kanata nodded politely every time but never stopped to chat or even slowed her steps.

As they came closer to the line of buildings that marked the village center, they passed a large grey house set back on a wide lawn. Three young women sat in rocking chairs on the porch, reading and talking.

“That is the home of the Widow Solo, an excellent lady of somewhat reduced circumstances. She keeps boarders. There’s a ladies’ teaching course just over in Birren, close enough that a few students live here every year. You might find companionship there.” Mrs. Kanata meant to be kind but young ladies well-off enough to attend teaching courses would never lower themselves to associate with orphaned shop girls.

Compared to the traffic and congestion of the city, the village center was pitifully small and empty, two rows of brick facing one another with only a few customers out and about. Mrs. Kanata stopped on the plank-lined sidewalk, pointing out the hardware store, the bank, the druggist who also sold stationary and printed the weekly newssheet. A small shop across the way had hats displayed in its front window. As they watched, a striking woman in a beautiful violet dress flipped the door sign to “Closed,” then gave them a small wave before hurrying off.

“Madame Holdo, dressmaker and milliner extraordinaire,” the older woman said, motioning to her own accessory. “We may be a small place but ladies come from all over to sample her wares. Particularly the summer crowds, the wealthy ones with big houses on the shore down in Quila and Anselm. They’ll start appearing in fancy motorcars in a month or two.”

Rey was far more interested in the mention of the shore than she was of dresses. She’d never seen the ocean, despite living only a few miles from it her entire life. There was a small, dingy picture on the wall in the matron’s office—it was there long before Miss Emmie came and Rey had no doubt it would be there until the entire building crumbled to dust. It showed a sailboat canted on heaving waves, three little boys and their father out for a day’s fishing. Even the dimness of the room and inches of dust couldn’t hide the energy of the scene, it’s excitement. Rey suspected she would be too terrified to ever go out in such a boat, though she longed for the chance just the same. But it wouldn’t do to ask for liberties on her first day. She knew about being patient.

Finally, they reached the end of the business block. Mrs. Kanata fished a large ring of keys from her coat pocket and let them in to the last storefront, her grocery operation. Floor to ceiling shelves ran the length of the space, stocked with neat rows of boxes, cans and glass jars. An enormous sign advertising soap hung over the counter. The opposite wall sported a string of cured hams, wrapped and suspended from a rope.

“The Kanatas have been grocers in Aurellia for nearly sixty years. My Charles started out in a wooden shack when we were first married. No electric lights then. Stock came up in wagons once a month if we were lucky, none of this train that passes through every blessed day. You young people are spoiled to beat the band.” She chuckled as she removed her hat and headed for the back room to hang it in safety.

Rey placed her case carefully next to the counter and examined the shelves. There were relishes and pickles, canned beans and vegetables, tobacco, pyramids of anchovy and sardine tins. Meals at the home were unreliable and bland, mostly stale bread and powdered milk, with oats sometimes thrown in if they were available. Her gut cramped painfully at the smell of instant coffee in rainbows of cylindrical canisters. She had been conditioned never to ask for food outside of scheduled meal hours, but hadn’t her new employer mentioned how hungry she must be at the station? Would Mrs. Kanata think her greedy and ill-mannered if she brought it up again?

The question was driven from her mind by the tinkling of the bell over the door. There was nowhere to hide in the narrow space, nothing to dart behind. She turned to see a man entering the store. He pushed impatiently at dark hair falling in his face, revealing a long, angry scar running from just above his left eye down into the collar of his shirt. When he realized there was already someone present, someone he did not recognize, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Had anyone been observing at that moment, they surely would have looked ridiculous. Each stared at the other without speaking. Rey blinked in confusion as the man rumpled a piece of paper, passing it back and forth from hand to hand. “Miss,” he finally managed, offering the curtest of nods. She wished she had not put the travel case down, wished there was something between them. Trustworthy people did not have scars like that.

Mrs. Kanata bustled out at the sound of the chime, tying an apron over her skirt. “Captain Solo, good afternoon to you. I see you’ve met my new shop girl, fresh off the train this very hour. May I present Miss Rey Johnson?” The man nodded again, returning his focus to the sheet almost before his head stopped moving. He was clearly mortified to be expected to talk to her.

Rey had no idea what she was supposed to do. Was it improper to speak or improper not to speak? Mrs. Kanata squinted back and forth between them, perplexed by the silence. “I see you’ve brought your list. Anything out of the ordinary or the usual fare?”

The man shook his head violently, as though that answered the question. He held the paper out and nearly the instant the woman got hold of it, he was fleeing out the door with a bitten off, “—afternoon.”

Mrs. Kanata sighed and stepped behind the counter. “Poor man,” she observed. “He had a hard war.” Rey could still see him through the front window, moving so rapidly away from the building it was as if he were afraid she might give chase. “Captain Solo is the keeper here. His mother is the Widow Solo I mentioned to you earlier.”

What _keeper_ meant, she didn’t know, but she nodded respectfully to show the other woman she was listening.

“My word, child, if I hadn’t heard you speak with my own ears, I’d wonder whether you were able. My sister wrote that you were a quiet sort of creature but she didn’t tell the half of it. So, here is a question for you: have you had midday meal?”

“No, ma’am.” She nearly sagged in relief.

“Auntie Maz, please.”

“No, Auntie Maz.”

“How does cheese toast with bacon sound? And I set some peaches in the ice box before I left for the station. Good?”

Rey gave a small smile of gratitude. “Good. Thank you.”

~~~

The days passed in a blur. Auntie Maz introduced her to each of the products in the store, showed her how to use the cash register, how to correctly record transactions on longer-term accounts. Captain Solo, for example, brought in supply lists for dry goods once a month. Rey was tasked with finding each item on the shelf and carefully packing them all into wooden crates. Normally, the man would drop off his slip, visit his mother, then retrieve the order later the same day. That hadn’t happened this time but Maz advised Rey not to mind, and to take advantage of the opportunity to fill the boxes at her own pace.

Word of a new arrival in the village had set tongues wagging and brought a stream of customers into the grocery. Miss Connix, a maid at the Solo boarding house, contrived to visit nearly every day. She came first in search of molasses, then oyster crackers for dinner soup, then polish for the students’ boots.

“I do hope I won’t find myself receiving an angry visit from your employer, on account of her bill this month,” Maz teased, offering up a neatly tied parcel containing a single can of pineapple slices.

Miss Connix—Kay, she begged Rey to call her—was nice enough but chatty and prone to gossip. “Have you met Captain Dameron?” she gushed one morning. “He pilots a lobster boat out of the harbor, the _Shara Bey_. He’s the bee’s knees.”

Rey had no time to visit the harbor, nor even to see the shore from a distance. She had been in Aurellia barely a week and it certainly would not be appropriate to ask for an evening free. “No, I don’t think so. Though I believe I met your employer’s son, Captain Solo.”

Kay assumed an appropriately sympathetic expression. “Isn’t he positively _tragic_?” she whispered. It was clear she was probing to see how much of the story Rey already knew. “He was the apple of old Mr. Solo’s eye. So sad he was away when his father passed. The house has never been the same.”

It wasn’t right to encourage Kay in her tattling but Rey was curious despite herself. “Why was he away?” she asked.

“The war, silly. Where do think he got that awful scar?” She scanned the shop, eyes wide, as if about to confide something truly dreadful. “He’s hardly said a word since. Not that he talked a great deal before. You’ve heard the expression, _he never came home from the war?_ That’s the young captain to a T.”

Rey was still pondering what it might mean, to survive a war but not _come back_ from it, when Maz suddenly demanded to know whether she could ride a bicycle. She could, of course, having learned to run errands as she became one of the oldest children in the orphanage.

“How would you like the chance to see a bit more of the town?” She must have looked hesitant because Maz continued, “You’ll be perfectly safe, I assure you. Your destination isn’t far. It’s a lovely day and I thought you might like to visit the seaside.” That was an offer too tempting to refuse. It wasn’t until she’d agreed and thanked Maz for the chance that it occurred to her to ask where she was going.

“I’d like you to pedal one of these boxes out to Captain Solo and remind him he needs to come fetch the rest.” Maz was already sketching a map with a pencil stub on the back of a receipt. “Just follow the main road east—” she pointed to the front left corner of the store, “—until you see the water. The road will curve south and hug the shore for perhaps a mile. It dead ends at the top of the point. You can’t miss the house. No chance to get lost at all.”

It was too late to back out. There was no good excuse not to go, not when she had been so open about her happiness only a moment earlier. She couldn’t bring herself to confess that the only man she had ever spoken with was horrid old Dr. Pershing at the home, with his cold hands and rancid breath, and even that had been against her will. There was nothing for it but to load the bicycle and do as her employer had instructed.

Nervous as she was, the day _was_ lovely. The road sloped toward the shore, easy and gracious. Little spots of wildflower color peppered the tall grass as it swayed in a stiffening breeze. Just at the point where the way curved south, she broke through the trees and saw endless blue rolling as far as the horizon.

When she’d accepted the proposal to come here, Miss Emmie had lent her a small book by a celebrated local authoress. She asked Rey to memorize selections and present them as recitations to the younger children. One of the passages came back to her as she stood in the center of the road, straddling the bicycle and breathing in the salt air:

_When one really knows a village like this and its surroundings, it is like becoming acquainted with a single person. The process of falling in love at first sight is as final as it is swift in such a case, but the growth of true friendship may be a lifelong affair._

As Maz had said, it was impossible to miss the house on the point. Snug and trim, its white clapboard cut sharp against the sapphire brilliance of the sky. A little workshop sat just behind it. And beyond, the most magical thing Rey had ever seen. A long wooden bridge, set on heavy stone footings on the rocky shore, led to a tall, stately round tower.

She had pushed the bicycle and its load up the last incline. Mesmerized by tower and ocean and boundless sky, she didn’t hear the workshop door slide open on its track. It was Captain Solo’s intake of breath that finally pulled her attention back but, in her awe, she somehow forgot to be afraid.

“You’re the keeper,” she blurted. “The keeper of all of this?”

He nodded in mute astonishment.

“It’s the most wonderful place on earth,” she cried.

His face relaxed, lost some of its distance. “I agree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Painting mentioned is Winslow Homer, _Breezing Up (A Fair Wind)_ , 1873-76 (above).
> 
> Quote is from Sarah Orne Jewett, _The Country of the Pointed Firs_ , 1896.
> 
> All places names are from SW, but chosen because they sound (to me) like the names of coastal Maine communities.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of his voice, so deep and alien in its maleness, brought reality crashing into her reverie. “Excuse me, Captain Solo. I didn’t mean to intrude. Mrs. Kanata asked me to bring a small batch of your provisions and remind you about coming to collect the rest.”

He had a cloth in his hands, an oil rag from the looks of it, and he wrung it with the same desperation he had mangled the paper the day they met. He was wearing a different sort of shirt now, one with no collar. A great deal more of his neck and shoulder were exposed and still, the livid scar had no bottom.

“Apologies, miss,” he muttered. “That shouldn’t have fallen to you.”

“It wasn’t any trouble,” she rushed to reassure him. “I was grateful for the chance to see more of the country.”

He offered no response, keeping his eyes fixed on the bicycle. A flock of gulls surged over the ridge of the roof and settled noisily on the chimney.

Curiosity overcame her reserve. “Please,” she asked suddenly, “what is that?”

He glanced toward the ocean, confused by the question. “What?”

“The…the tower,” she stammered, afraid of using the wrong word and looking like the ignorant outsider she felt.

For a moment, his jaw worked so strongly she though he must be angry. Was it an impertinent question? Or was he offended by her stupidity? Perhaps he didn’t care for being pestered on his own land by a lowly shop girl.

“You mean the lighthouse,” he realized. Rey wished she had never asked. What had possessed her to speak so boldly to this strange man?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take up any more of your time—” she began, wheeling the bike around to untie the crate, but he interrupted, “There’s no reason you ought to have known. I can’t imagine there are many lighthouses in the center of the city.”

He was still rooted to the doorway but the open look on his face fairly begged her to ask another question. “What is it for? I mean, what function does it serve?” she wondered.

“It warns off things that are too close,” he said quietly. “There are hundreds along the coast, more than twenty in this bay alone. This one’s been here a century.” He stepped sideways out of the workshop, careful not to come closer. “At the top, that part you can see through? A kerosene lamp up there reflects off a glass lens. At night, a ship can spot it from a dozen miles away. There’s a bell to ring when the fog’s too thick even to see the light.”

Rey adjusted her grip on the handle bars. The crate was getting heavy to balance. “Pardon me for asking but what does it mean to be the keeper?”

“I maintain the light.” He approached slowly, as if afraid she would bolt, until he was near enough to relieve her of the bicycle’s weight. Steering it to the house, he set it against the porch railing and lifted the grocery crate clear.

“Do you live here all the time? Even in winter weather, I mean?”

“Winter is when the light’s needed most. Dark comes early and lingers. Storms blow up and ships lose their way before they know what’s happened.” Solo glided the bicycle back, stopping a few feet shy and pushing it the last length toward her.

“How many poor souls you must have saved over the years,” Rey breathed.

He looked startled at the idea. After a moment, he advised, “You best be getting back to the village, miss. Mrs. Kanata will wonder what’s happened to you.”

~~~

By some happenstance, when she returned to the store it was to find an elegant lady there that Maz introduced as, “Mrs. Hannaford Solo, mother to Captain Benjamin Solo whom you’ve lately seen.” His name was Benjamin, then. She decided it suited him. Though why she ought to have any opinion on the matter at all, she couldn’t honestly say.

The lady was only a bit taller than Maz and dressed in the longer, fuller skirts that were decidedly out of fashion nowadays. But the tailoring and fabric were immaculate, so one understood immediately that she wore them as a preference, not a necessity.

“If you’ve seen my son recently, you have the advantage of me,” she said in a tone Rey didn’t quite understand. She thought perhaps the lady was teasing, making a joke. “And how did you find him?”

“Well, ma’am,” she answered, wondering if she dared ask about the lighthouse but deciding it was better to hold her tongue. Mrs. Kanata had treated her well so far but she was still learning where the boundaries on her behavior lay. She didn’t want to risk being overly familiar with a customer and friend of her employer.

“Miss Rey, a crate of new inventory came in on the early train. The station master had it delivered just after you left for the point. Please unpack the contents and make sure everything is accounted for. And then if you’d be so good as to run the bluing over to the laundry, I’d be much obliged.” Maz nodded toward the back room with a kind but unmistakable nod of dismissal.

Rey had no intention of eavesdropping. She had learned early in life that there were many things it was better not to know, or to choose not to know. But when she realized she had forgotten to take the order slips into the stock room and turned back to the shop door, she couldn’t help but hear Mrs. Solo’s next comment. “Is she another of Emeline’s projects, then?”

She should have made her presence known at once but her hand refused to turn the knob. Maz’s voice was low but clearly audible. “Indeed. My sister didn’t appreciate Aurellia when she lived here. But now she’s spent half her life in that godforsaken city, she sees the benefits of simple country living for her charges.”

“Let’s hope this one works out better than the last. That Erso girl barely managed a month. You’re generous to a fault, Marjorie. I’ve always said so.”

The two women began discussing a fête being planned by the church ladies’ aid society. Rey backed away from the door, task all but forgotten. Her hands shook. She was not the first foundling Miss Emmie had taken a liking to, after all. She was not even the first girl sent back east in the hopes of a better life. Worst of all, the matron had lied to Rey, saying her sister up north required the assistance of a suitable girl for her shop. In reality, Auntie Maz had taken her on only as one more act of charity. Her eyes stung with humiliation.

She should have known it was all too good to be true.

She was nothing. Nobody.

~~~

The room was small but tidy, the first private space Rey had ever been privileged to occupy in her life. And while she continued to be grateful for it, it did not feel anything like what she imagined a real home would. At the end of the day, this building and the shop all belonged to Auntie Maz, who could turn Rey out whenever she liked. The room might be set aside for her use but it was not _hers_. Sitting on the little bed, she imagined the other girl, the one that didn’t last. Perhaps there were more, an endless string of girls stretching on in Rey’s mind to eternity. There was nothing whatsoever special about her. This time next year, another girl could very well be sitting in this spot thinking the same thing.

She would dearly love to read but she had no book and the room was dark save for a thin slice of moonlight shining in the only window. Mrs. Kanata had explained that there were no electric lights in this part of the building. She walked Rey to her room each evening with the kerosene lamp, left it for five minutes while Rey prepared for bed, then came to collect it again. Now that she knew the truth about how she came to Aurellia, she felt foolish for not suspecting something was amiss earlier. Every resource was made to last in this household and there was obviously not enough business in town to justify two people staffing the grocery. So far, a great deal of her time had been spent dusting cans and straightening already organized shelves.

Sleep was difficult for her in the best of times; tonight, it was impossible. Years of sharing a single dormitory with a hundred other children had destroyed her ability to truly rest. In the home, you never knew when you would wake to find someone rifling under your mattress, looking for pitiful hidden keepsakes. You never knew when you would wake to far worse. Rey might seem meek to strangers but she knew how to fight when she had to.

A desire to see the lighthouse came on her quite suddenly. It was madness. Any other time, she would have dismissed the notion immediately, as far too great a risk. If she were seen, it would mean the end of her position, the end of her new life here. But if she were being honest, that new life felt much more tenuous tonight and perhaps even a tiny bit less prized, now that she saw it for what it truly was: orphan relief disguised in new clothing.

Before she could talk herself out of the impulse, she dressed in the dark and slipped quietly outside. The bicycle was just where she left it hours before. It was colder for this second trip to the sea, and she might have cursed herself for forgetting to wear a jacket, had she owned one to forget. Instead, she shivered at the chill and at her own recklessness, feeling more and more unreal with every turn of the pedal that put her farther from the safety of her bed.

The sound of the surf hit like a wall once she cleared the tree line. Everything was amplified in the dark, the wind in the dune grass, the briny taste of the air. Once she reached the base of the point, she got off the bicycle and left it hidden by the side of the road, so as not to alert Captain Solo. It took a moment or two of walking, arms wrapped tightly around her middle against each gust, before she climbed high enough to see the lighthouse.

It was beautiful, like a giant candle left watch on the sill of the world. She desperately wanted to cross the bridge and climb to the very top, but she didn’t dare move even a step closer. A lamp burned in the workshop, late as it was. The slider door was edged in gold, a frame that grew wider then narrower as it bounced slightly in the weather.

What it was that tripped her up, she never knew. One moment, she was turning to creep back down the hill unnoticed. The next, she was on the ground, ankle smarting. Terror flooded through her as the door whipped open, light falling over her like a net.

“Who’s there?” Captain Solo called, stepping out with something wicked looking in his hand. It was hard to see, since the glare was behind him, but she thought it might be a crowbar. “Miss Johnson? What in the world are you doing out at this hour of the night?” He rushed over to help her off the ground. “Are you injured?”

She shook her head hard. “No, sir. I’m alright.”

“And my other question?” he demanded sharply. He had placed himself between her and the shore, blocking the worst of the air.

“I…I only…I just wanted to see the lighthouse at night,” she admitted, shamefaced as a child caught stealing. She was shaking with fear and embarrassment.

“You’re cold,” he said in a milder tone. “Come inside.” He began to walk back toward the workshop. When she hesitated, he promised, “I mean no harm to anyone, miss.”

Rey had put herself into this compromised position and there was no way out but through. She put her trust in his good character and followed him into the shop. A small stove in the corner kept the space cozy. There was a workbench and tools neatly arranged on the wall. A half-finished spindle waited on the lathe. Next to the stove was a single chair with a book dropped open on its seat, evidence of her interruption.

He crossed the room and snatched up a grey flannel shirt, offering it to her without quite meeting her eye. “You’re not dressed for the weather, if I may say.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. The shirt was heavy and smelled like nothing she had ever encountered before. When she realized it was _him_ she was smelling, she blushed to the roots of her hair. “I’m not used to the seaside, I expect.”

“Surely it’s still cold at night this time of year, even in the city.” Now he was looking at her. How much of her story did he already guess? How many of her predecessors at the grocery had he seen come and go?

“I was never allowed out at night from the home. I daresay it was cold enough inside.”

“Didn’t they give you proper clothing for coming north?” he asked, forehead wrinkling in consternation.

“They were very generous, sir. They purchased my train ticket and gave me traveling clothes and a case. I’d be ungrateful to think otherwise.”

His expression suggested his strong disagreement, though he didn’t pursue the topic further. “Are you certain you aren’t injured?” he asked again.

“Only my pride,” she allowed and risked a small smile. “What are you reading?”

He turned toward the chair. “Keats. Do you know his work?”

“Oh, yes,” she said eagerly. “I had to recite _Ode on a Grecian Urn_ last year. ‘ _Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness/Thou foster-child of silence and slow time…_ ’ It was sublimely beautiful.”

Captain Solo gave a little huff of startled laughter. No doubt he expected an orphanage girl to be illiterate. She was being too forward and lapsed into awkward silence.

“Are you warm enough?” he inquired abruptly and when she nodded and moved to return the shirt, he ordered, “Keep it. For the walk back. I’ll see you home.”

“That’s not necessary—” she began.

“I’d say it’s essential,” he countered. “Miss Johnson, I can’t in good conscience turn you out to walk, unaccompanied, almost two miles in the dark.” Seeing her pinched expression, he added, “I owe you a good deed for this morning. Allow me to discharge my debt.”

“I came on the bicycle,” she confessed. “It’s hidden in the grass at the foot of the hill.”

“You are quite the adventurer, miss,” he said, in a tone that hinted at admiration. He lifted a jacket from the peg nearest the door and stuck out a hand, motioning for her to leave the workroom first.

After retrieving the bicycle, they walked in silence for several moments. The captain was quite a bit taller but didn’t seem in any particular hurry, despite the lateness of the hour. “This road gets very little traffic. Still, I’m sure you grasp how important it is that we not be seen together,” he murmured, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll take you as far as the tree line closest to the business block. Beyond that, we probably shouldn’t risk it. For the protection of your own reputation.”

Her cheeks burned at the implication. “I’m so sorry. I should never have come out. I don’t know what came over me. I only wanted…” She trailed off.

“I understand,” he said gently. “Before I lived here, I might have climbed out a window or two to come see it myself. When I was a boy, I mean. I’ve known the sea my entire life. You only got your first glimpse today.”

The dirt crunched under the tires as she steered the cycle between them. “You like poetry, then? Or just Keats?”

“I enjoy reading in general. This place lends itself to poetry, wouldn’t you agree?” The moon was behind the trees now and there was no need to nod, because it was too dark to see clearly. It amplified the timbre of his voice. “What about you? What do you like to read?”

She didn’t want to reveal that there were very few books in the orphanage, that she had read them all—even the awful ones—more than once. “Oh, anything I can find, I suppose.”

“Did Mrs. Kanata tell you about the Reading Room?”

“No. What’s that?”

“It’s above Madame Holdo’s, just across from the grocery. It’s by subscription but if Mrs. Kanata will vouch for you, I’m sure Mrs. Nu will allow you to borrow something. Maybe if you volunteer to help an hour or two a week? In the meantime, you’re welcome to borrow this.” Rey felt the spine of a book being pushed into her hand where it clutched the handlebar. It was the volume of Keats. Captain Solo must have pocketed it as soon as she walked outside.

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I’ll be greatly offended if you don’t,” he responded, but without any real heat behind the words. “It’s not often I encounter a fellow admirer of Keats. Please, do me the honor of accepting it.”

She wanted the book, badly. But she couldn’t take it. “It’s so generous of you. But I’d have to hide it from Mrs. Kanata. I don’t think it would be right.”

He didn’t reply at once and she wondered if she had insulted him. But then he said, “Forgive me. I wouldn’t want to do anything to harm your relations with her.” She felt the tug of the book leaving her fingers and a pang at its loss.

“You know, I’m nearly finished with this book. I’ve been thinking I might donate it to the Reading Room,” he said thoughtfully. “Exchange it for something new.”

“Captain Solo—”

“My late father used to say, _only a fool permits the letter of the law from overriding the spirit of the heart._ ”

“I’m not sure I understand what that means.”

“It means, I’m stubborn. Anyone who knows me will testify to the truth of that. If I make up my mind to do something, say donate a book to the Reading Room, then that’s what I’ll do. No sense arguing about it.”

They reached the place where the road curved away from the shore and back toward the village, the halfway point on their journey. She wanted to thank him but felt sure he wouldn’t want that. Instead, she said, “I had the chance to meet your mother earlier today. She was visiting with Mrs. Kanata when I got back to the shop.”

“No doubt conspiring on some public good or other. If you haven’t already gathered, Miss Johnson, they’re the two most progressive ladies in Aurellia, maybe the state. The suffrage movement, temperance, child welfare. I half-expected my mother to announce a run for Congress, after that woman out west was elected a few years back.” When Rey didn’t answer, he prompted, “Have I shocked you?”

“Not at all. It’s just…they mentioned in passing that other girls from the orphanage had moved here and worked at the grocery. I hadn’t known that before today. All part of the child welfare cause, I expect.”

They were getting closer to town, so Captain Solo spoke more quietly. “I don’t recall any…oh, wait a moment. There was one young lady I’ve heard my mother mention but that was ages ago, when my parents were first married. Thirty years if it was a day, I’d guess.”

Rey stopped walking. “Thirty years ago? And she was the only other one? Are you certain?” She felt somehow lighter.

“The only one I can recall.” Captain Solo’s outline in the distant glow of the street lamps was faintly visible and she saw his head drop. “There were a few years when I was…away. I can’t speak to those.” He meant the war and she knew it. “This is probably as good a place for us to part company as any. I’ll keep watch until you’re at the grocery, just to be safe.”

It was useless to protest so she balanced the bicycle against her hip and took off the flannel shirt. The night was so much less friendly without its protection. “Thank you for your kindness. I’m much obliged to you.”

“Think nothing of it.” His fingers brushed hers as he reclaimed the shirt and they both jerked back a little. “Good night, Miss Johnson. Sleep well.”

As she secured the bicycle behind the shop and silently let herself back into her room, she thought it possible that she might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First woman elected to U.S. Congress: Jeannette Rankin (R-MT) 1916


	3. Chapter 3

Auntie Maz thoroughly approved of her request to volunteer at the Reading Room. She told Rey she liked her gumption. She was probably relieved to have an hour or two a week she didn’t have to fill with tasks. That very afternoon she marched Rey across the street and introduced her to Jocasta Nu, volunteer librarian. Mrs. Nu had snow white hair and a handsome strand of pearls secured to her dress by a cameo brooch. She was altogether more impressive than the little lending library over which she presided.

Maz inquired after the health of her aged mother. She warned Rey in advance that she would have to do this, and that Mrs. Nu would reluctantly reveal that her mother was on death’s door, a spot she had occupied faithfully for at least twenty-five years. Since Rey’s feelings toward Maz were much warmer this morning, in light of Captain Solo’s revelations, she smiled freely and thought how pleasant it must be to be part of a community.

“Doctor Kalonia assures us things are grave, indeed,” Mrs. Nu declared with a heavy sigh, as Maz nodded and clucked and patted the back of her hand in sympathy. The next instant she suddenly remembered a customer coming to pick up an order—how silly she was to have forgotten!—and rushed away, leaving Rey to fend for herself.

The Reading Room was actually three small rooms. The first was a sort of reception area, where anyone desiring to read or borrow pled their case before Mrs. Nu. The second room was filled with mismatched chairs and serial publications. Subscribers could stop by to read the newspaper or journal of their choosing. And the final room was lined with shelves only partially filled with books.

Rey had already straightened the serials room and was nearly finished dusting the book room when the unmistakable sound of Captain Solo’s voice drifted back from the front. “Good morning, Mrs. Nu.”

“Well, good morning to you, Captain Solo. How nice to see you out. It’s been too long. How may I be of assistance?”

“I have a book I’d like to donate.”

“How wonderful! And Keats, no less. Our poetry selection is sorely limited, as you well know. The Literary Society intends to hold a fundraiser and use the proceeds to purchase more books. You might consider joining yourself.”

“I’m not much of a joiner, ma’am,” he demurred. “And I can’t be away from the light in the evenings.” Rey listened in confusion. Hadn’t he left the light last night, with her?

A small, dented clock on the shelf told her the hour was up and she was due back at the grocery. Stepping into the main room, she said, “Excuse me for interrupting, Mrs. Nu, but I must be going. Mrs. Kanata is expecting me.” The captain gave nothing away, discreetly acknowledging her presence but no more.

“Very well, my dear. Shall I see you again next week?” When Rey promised she would, Mrs. Nu turned her attention back to Solo. “Let me write you a receipt for the donation.”

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am. I also have business at the grocery. Good morning.” By the time he took his leave, Rey was in the hallway but she heard every word and purposely dawdled on the landing.

“You didn’t borrow any books,” he pointed out, hushed enough that Mrs. Nu wouldn’t hear, falling into step behind her on the stairs.

“There were too many to choose. Next time.” In truth, she was holding out for Keats.

“I came into town for the rest of my provisions. May I walk with you across the street?” Somehow, the question didn’t sound like a polite formality when he said it. It sounded as if he were anxious she might refuse him.

But as they left the building, an older gentleman farther down the walk called, “Captain Solo!” and strolled toward them. The younger man shot her an apologetic look; he would have to stay. Rey would return to the grocery alone. There was no connection between them, after all, no relation. So far as the people of Aurellia knew, they were strangers.

~~~

As it happened, she did not see Benjamin Solo again that day. Maz asked her to take the bicycle and deliver a parcel to the far west side of the village. By the time she got back, he had already collected his supplies and left for the point. She wondered when they might meet next. Perhaps he would happen to stop in at the Reading Room during her volunteer time. Rey had spent a lifetime patiently waiting—for parents who did not reappear, for adoption that did not happen, for freedom from the home—but a week felt somehow interminable.

Toward the close of business, she was dispatched to the druggist. The proprietor was one of three doctors in the village, a wizened man who had ambitions in the literary arts. He submitted short stories to periodicals in his spare time; years before, he had even won a small sum of money in a writing competition. For nearly a decade, he had owned and edited the weekly newspaper, the _Aurellia Gazette and Advertiser_. Customers could hire the printing press for small jobs like customized mailer cards and receipt books, which was what Rey was sent to collect.

When she entered the shop, the first thing she heard was a ringing snore. The old doctor was sound asleep next to his roll top desk. A petite, sunny young woman got up from a table in the back and came to greet her. “You must be the new assistant at Auntie Maz’s. Pleased to meet you. Rose Tico.” She stuck out a hand and shook Rey’s firmly. “How are you settling in?”

“Very well, thank you.” She jumped a little when the doctor let out a great snort of air.

“Don’t mind him,” the other woman advised. “He does this every afternoon. He’ll be asleep for at least an hour. Come and meet Jannah.” She led Rey to the end of the shop, where another woman sat at a table, placing tiny pieces of metal into a tray. “Miss Jannah Robinson, meet—” she stopped short and then laughed. “You know, I didn’t get your name.”

“It’s Rey. Rey Johnson.” She shook the second woman’s hand. “What are you working on?”

“We’re the compositors,” Jannah explained. “We set type for the _Gazette_ and any odd jobs that come through.”

“Speaking of which, you must be here for Auntie Maz’s receipt books. I have them put aside for her,” Rose said, locating one wrapped parcel in a small stack piled on a nearby shelf.

Rey accepted the package. “Thank you. What an interesting job. It must require a great deal of patience.”

“The longer you do it, the faster you get,” Jannah assured her.

“I suppose I never realized it was a job open to women.” Ambition was not encouraged in the orphanage. Instead, children were urged to ‘know their place’ and fill it cheerfully. Rey always understood she’d have to support herself once she was too old to remain in the system. But with no family or money, and only a smattering of education, her prospects were limited. Had Miss Emmie not offered her the chance to escape, she would most likely have ended her days as a domestic servant, a cook, or a laundress. She still might.

“Only unmarried women. Which is why we will lose Miss Robinson all too soon,” Rose teased.

“You’re engaged? How wonderful.”

Jannah smiled brightly. “He’s a good man, a hard worker. He’s employed at the sawmill in Birren, where I was born. I’m very fortunate.”

Rose clasped her friend’s hand. “She forgot to mention how dashing he is. They’re to be married in the fall and then she’ll fly away and leave me here alone.”

“Not alone,” Jannah corrected affectionately. “You still have your sister.”

“I meant alone _here_ ,” Rose clarified, tilting her head to encompass the shop. “My sister is studying to be a teacher. We board at the Widow Solo’s. Jannah does, too—for a few more months, at any rate.”

“You must come for a Saturday visit,” Jannah cried. “Now that the weather is improving we go for rambles in the woods.”

Rose nodded enthusiastically. “My sister will be so keen to meet you. We don’t often get new faces in these parts.”

“Are you sure Mrs. Solo won’t mind?”

Both women shook their heads. Rose said confidently, “She’s perfectly dear. She treats us as well as if we were her own daughters. I think she enjoys the company, now her husband has passed. From what I’ve heard, they were devoted to each other.”

The clock chimed the hour and the sleeper choked and wheezed loudly before settling back into a regular rhythm of breath.

“I’d better get back and help close up the shop,” Rey said, surprised at how reluctant she was to go.

“Do try to come for a visit. Surely Mrs. Kanata can spare you for a few hours.”

“I’ll try,” she promised, taking her leave and tiptoeing past the doctor, whose spectacles balanced dangerously close to the tip of his nose.

~~~

Maz wasn’t at her usual place behind the register when Rey walked into the grocery. She stored the receipts and made her way to the back. It wasn’t like her employer to leave the front door unlocked and the till unguarded for long stretches of time. At first glance, the stock room appeared empty. But as she was turning to check the living quarters upstairs, she heard a low moan. Leaning around a stack of barrels, she spotted a familiar figure sitting on the floor in a daze.

“Mrs. Kanata! Are you alright? Whatever happened?”

For the briefest instant, she was certain Maz didn’t recognize her. But then the lady gave her head a vigorous shake and grunted a laugh. Her voice was only a bit unsteady. “Oh, I’m fine, child. Just clumsy, is all. Took a bad step and went down. Help an old crone up off her dignity, will you?”

Rey eased her to her feet—she was light as a bird under the colorful plumage of her clothing—and insisted on taking her upstairs for a cup of tea and an evening of rest.

“Nonsense,” Maz argued, waving the girl off and moving back toward the front of the shop. Rey noticed she kept a steadying hand out the entire trip, trailing the door jam, the wall shelves, the counter. “I will do no such thing. If I closed up every time I stubbed my toe, I’d be out of business in a week. My Charles would turn in his grave at that kind of work ethic.”

“It’s nearly closing time anyway—” Rey persisted.

“You’re a good lass but I’m fine and that’s an end to it.” Her tone brooked no opposition. “Now, tell me, did you get the receipt books?” Rey confirmed that she had, then recounted her introduction to Misses Tico and Robinson.

“The Robinsons are an old Birren family. Four generations back, at least. I’ve met her young man. Fine looking fellow. He helped Captain Solo rebuild the bridge at Chandrila Point last summer. Stopped in here most every day. At the time, I assumed he had a bottomless pit for a stomach but now I spy the real motivation behind his visits.” She pulled off her enormous spectacles and polished them on the hem of her apron. “You worked diligently over the past week. Do as well in the coming week and I’ll be glad to give you Saturday afternoon for visiting.”

“Thank you, ma’am. You’re kind to agree.”

Maz studied her over the tops of the spectacles. Her face was still pale but her eyes were bright. “Kindness doesn’t come into it. Hard work should be rewarded. I wasn’t always this ancient, you know. I remember what it was like to be young. I’m not as strict as some who think girls should be locked away and never have any enjoyment in life. Within reason, of course.” She winked at Rey. “But you have a sensible head on your shoulders. I may not have known you long but my sister is as good a judge of character as I’ve ever met. She has a high opinion of you and I’ve seen nothing to contradict it.”

Rey blinked hard to hold back the tears that prickled the corners of her eyes. She had never allowed herself to imagine what it was like to have a mother or grandmother. It hurt too much to think about. She respected and admired Miss Emmie but the matron always held her at a distance, so as not to be accused of favoritism. Auntie Maz was warmer, more generous in her praise. With enough time, Rey might allow herself to risk loving the woman.

Maz sat heavily on a stool by the register. “Now, child, if you’d be so kind as to lay the kettle on the stove, I think I will take that cup of tea.”

~~~

On Saturday afternoon, she changed into her best outfit, the hand-me-down green traveling frock. Maz had helped her remove the soot and take down the stain. It was still too short, though not enough to be indecent. Once the end of the month came, and she collected her wages, she had already resolved that her first purchase would be a dress of her own choosing. She could never afford anything from Madame Holdo’s but it was still pleasant to look across the street from time to time and know that such sumptuous things existed in the universe.

When she reached the Solo boarding house, Miss Tico and Miss Robinson were on a blanket on the lawn with a third woman. This turned out to be Miss Tico’s older sister, Paige. Rey passed two pleasant hours in their company, learning all about the rigors of a ladies’ teaching course. She liked children well enough but after years of being responsible for the care of other youngsters at the home, she was certain she didn’t have the patience to be a teacher.

By four o’clock, it was time to head back to the shop. Maz had looked so drawn this morning that Rey wondered whether she ought to go at all. She was rounding the corner of the house, considering what she might prepare for their supper, when the front door opened and Benjamin Solo stepped out onto the porch. She was startled enough that she stopped walking to stare at him.

He stalled at the top of the stairs. “Miss Johnson. What are you doing here?”

“I…I was invited,” she faltered. “Miss Tico and Miss Robinson asked me to call.”

“I see.” Why did he look uneasy? Did her new acquaintance with his mother’s boarders remind him of the difference in their social status? “It appears we’re both headed in the same direction. Would you mind my walking with you?”

The captain was always so formal, so careful not to overstep. Normally, all that propriety might annoy her but somehow his awkwardness was endearing. “Not at all.”

Neither of them knew how to make conversation. “Have you found a coat yet?” he demanded, a shade more forcefully than the question deserved.

“No, but Mrs. Kanata gave me some beautiful brown yarn and she’s going to teach me to knit a cardigan.”

“Winter will be here before you realize,” he cautioned. “A cardigan won’t be sufficient protection.”

“I promise, Captain Solo, I will purchase a proper coat as soon as I begin to draw my wages.” She couldn’t keep the smile from her voice and he looked at her uncertainly, weighing whether she was laughing at him or not. He appeared to come down on the side of _not_.

“How are you finding life at the grocery?”

“Mrs. Kanata has made me feel very welcome. She’s a kind lady.”

“She is,” he agreed. “I’ve known her all my life. She and my mother are as close as sisters. I’m actually responsible for her…pet name.”

“Really?”

“I was meant to call her Aunt Marjorie but as a little boy I couldn’t pronounce it. There was some social event—a church picnic, I think. I was too young to remember it but as the story’s been told to me, I spent the day toddling around after her, calling her Auntie Maz at the top of my lungs. Everyone found it amusing and took to calling her that as a joke, until she refused to answer to anything else.”

“That’s a lovely story. You’re lucky to be surrounded by friends and relatives who know all your stories.”

He hung his head. “I’m being insensitive.”

“Oh no, you’ve misunderstood me.”

He glanced over, gaze oddly intense. “Have I?”

“When I was a little girl, I tried to imagine what a real home must be like. I don’t think they should be allowed to call an orphanage a _home_ , do you? It’s so wrong.”

“What did you imagine?” he wondered.

“I decided, in all my childish wisdom, that every real home must have three things: flowers, music, and some sort of animal. A floppy-eared dog or a tabby cat curled on the window seat. Just life, really. Life and color. Everything in the orphanage was grey.”

“Everything in the war was grey, too,” he offered quietly. “Everything except the—” He shook his head once, short and sharp, as if reminding himself where he was. “Forgive me,” he finished, without explaining why.

They were almost at the end of the business block, the end of their conversation. “Miss Johnson,” he said abruptly, then swallowed so strongly he seemed to lose the ability to finish the sentence. Near the door, he tried again. “If you’d ever want to come out and see the inside of the lighthouse, you’d be welcome. You and Mrs. Kanata, of course.” It wouldn’t be proper for the two of them to be alone in the tower, unsupervised.

“I’d like that,” she managed. Her heart drummed a curious cadence behind her ribs.

His next words tumbled out in a flurry. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company. Good evening.” With a curt nod, he fled.

Only after he’d gone did Rey notice that the store was dark, the front door locked. It was not quite half-past four, far too early for the close of business. She made her way around to the back of the building and let herself in through the store room. Everything was quiet. A dark tingle of fear ran across her scalp.

“Auntie Maz?” she called on the second-floor landing, to no response. She had never been inside Maz’s bedroom but she was worried enough to risk the woman’s anger at such an invasion of privacy. Tapping on the door, she called again. Her hands began to tremble as she turned the knob. There was sufficient light coming through the curtains to take in the scene. The room was sparsely furnished, with little decoration besides. Only one small table stood next to the bed, a framed photograph of a bearded man at its center. Maz lay on top of the covers, fully clothed. Her arm was extended toward the table, as if her final conscious act was to reach, one last time, for her Charles.

She was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were female compositors as far back as the mid-nineteenth century. My rural midwestern town had female compositors—and a female editor—as early as the 1870s. 
> 
> I did stretch the timeline a teensy bit; my town phased out handset type (in favor of the new linotype machines) in 1918.
> 
> I gave Jannah the last name Robinson as a tribute to the most prominent African-American family in my town’s history.


	4. Chapter 4

She was numb, wrung out as thoroughly as a tattered dish rag.

All night people came and went from the shop, strangers to her though not to each other. Rey was stranded in a bizarre no man’s land. She’d lived there for just two weeks. She had found Mrs. Kanata but was no relation to the woman. She had no claim on the sympathies of people who had known Maz for decades. She had no say in what happened to the deceased, to the grocery, perhaps even to herself.

Once she ran for Doctor Kalonia, who examined the body and certified the death, Rey’s part came to an end. It was the doctor who went next door to alert Maz’s neighbor of nearly thirty years, a painter called Alrich Wren. Word spread quickly after that. Half of Aurellia paid their respects by midnight. She ended up tucked in a corner, watching the door and hoping each time the bell sounded that it heralded the appearance of Captain Solo. She wasn’t entirely certain what she expected him to do but she yearned for his steady quiet.

The Widow Solo arrived after dawn, apologizing to the doctor. She had drunk an herbal tonic to help her sleep just before word reached the boarding house that her oldest friend had passed. Her maid had not been able to wake her.

Mrs. Solo was the only person to take notice of Rey. “How are you holding up? I know this must be quite a shock to your system.” She sat on a bench dragged in from another room. “Her health had been delicate for years but she didn’t like people making a fuss. Still, I’m sorry it had to happen now. She was becoming quite fond of you. Just the other day, she mentioned how nice it was to have someone else in the house again.”

Rey clamped her teeth down hard on the inside of her lower lip, to stop it quivering.

“The store will have to be sold, of course, and soon. A town can’t survive long without a functioning grocery. It was Marjorie’s wish that the proceeds from the sale go to her sister, for the benefit of the orphans.” She reached out to touch the cuff of Rey’s sleeve. “You’re welcome to stay at the boarding house until we sort out your travel arrangements.”

“My—?” The words lodged in her throat.

The widow looked at her questioningly. “I assume you’ll prefer to return to the city? Familiar surroundings and all that. I’ll send a telegram to Emeline directly. I’m sure she can find employment for you. She’s very resourceful.” The front door opened and a grey-haired gentleman came in, removing his hat. “Ah, Reverend Kenobi is here. Do excuse me.”

Rey thought she might be sick. They were going to send her away, back to hunger and fear and isolation. Back to filth and noise and the stench of the city. Of course they were, how could it be otherwise? This was always where her steps led—a door slammed shut, a window bricked over. She stumbled out the back and climbed on the bicycle. No one would notice she was gone, much less care.

It was barely breakfast when she reached the point but she had lost all sense of time. She only wanted to see the beautiful beacon again, to have the chance to say goodbye to Captain Solo before she was packed off on the train. _Return to sender._ Someday, he might walk another young lady home in the evening and struggle to recall the name of the peculiar girl who lived with Auntie Maz for less than a fortnight. Her stomach twisted at the thought.

The workshop was empty, its stove unlit. Perhaps his tending the light at night meant he slept later in the mornings. She climbed the porch steps and knocked at the front door, but no one answered. Panic slithered up her spine. If she left now, she was convinced she would never see him again.

“Miss Johnson?” He was coming out of the tower, some sort of maintenance case in his hands. Her distress must be evident. Before he’d even made it across the bridge, he demanded, “What’s happened?”

Her courage nearly failed. “I’m so sorry. Mrs. Kanata…she passed away.”

He bowed his head in grief. “I knew she was slowing down but I didn’t realize…when?”

“Yesterday. I found her just after we parted company. She didn’t appear to suffer. She looked peaceful.”

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to…are you alright?”

It all came out in a torrent. “They’re going to sell the grocery and send me back, maybe as soon as tomorrow, and I was afraid you mightn’t hear what happened since you only come to the village occasionally and then I’d never have the chance to say goodbye.” She had to suck in a gasping breath when she’d finished.

He stared at her stupidly, as if his brain were trying to tease the syllables apart into something that made sense. “ _Who_ is sending you _where_?”

“Your mother said they were going to telegram Miss Emmie and send me back to work in the orphanage. It’ll be alright. She’s been good to me. I didn’t mean to complain, truly, I just wanted to say—”

“Goodbye. That part I understood.”

“Well,” she stammered, at a loss now that she’d said her peace, “I suppose I should—”

“Do you want to go back?” he asked, putting the case down on the ground. He took a small step closer. “Tell the truth.”

“I…I’m not sure I have a—”

“But if you had the choice,” he interrupted, “if it were up to you— _just you_ —would you go or would you stay?”

The sunshine on the waves was so radiant she had to shield her eyes. She wanted to take it all in, to wrap every enchantment of this place inside her heart for safekeeping. “I would stay,” she whispered.

“Then stay,” he urged. “We can arrange something. I’m sure my mother would—”

“No, please, I couldn’t do that. I can’t accept any more charity. My living with Mrs. Kanata was part of my wages, not that I collected any others.” She stopped uncertainly. “I haven’t any money and from what I’ve seen, there are no positions in the village desperately in need of filling. Perhaps it’s best I go.” Her tone convinced neither of them.

He stared out across the rocky foreshore, such a thunderous expression on his face that she was certain he was furious at her spinelessness. A muscle in his cheek jumped. Then he seemed to make his mind up about something. He took a second step, cut the distance between them in half. “There’s another way,” he said. “A way you could stay.”

The sound of the surf was nearly drowned out by the pounding of the pulse in her ears. “How?”

“You could marry me.”

Her mouth fell open in astonishment. She must look like a fish, desperate for water. She couldn’t stop blinking. “Are you serious?”

“Quite serious,” he insisted, swallowing hard. A life in the sun had tanned his skin but he was paler just now. The scar stood out starkly. “Please understand, Miss Johnson. I’m making this offer in good faith. It isn’t charity or even sympathy. If anything, it’s self-serving.”

She couldn’t seem to make her mouth close. “How do you mean?”

“This isn’t the easiest existence. Not many people enjoy the solitude as I do. But even I would be grateful for company on occasion. It would be…agreeable to talk about Keats on a winter’s night.”

“Agreeable,” she repeated tonelessly.

“I’m not good with words,” he apologized. “I may read poets but I don’t count myself among them. I’ve enjoyed our time together these past few days. In fact, I’d hoped—had this not happened—I’d hoped to ask permission to call on you sometime.”

Rey had a strong constitution. She was no shrinking violet, no namby-pamby. There were some at the end of their lives who had not endured as much misery and hardship as she had survived in her two decades. But the last half-day had undone her. She wondered what it felt like to faint. Captain Solo was surveying her face, cataloguing every blink and silence. He misread what he saw. “I’ve offended you. I apologize.”

“You’ve surprised me, that’s all. It’s just surprise, I swear.”

His face softened. “You’ve had a terrible night. I’d never have said anything so presumptuous if the situation hadn’t been dire.”

“Of course.”

“I realize I’m no Valentino—” he began quietly, staring at his boots.

“Please don’t,” she insisted. “Don’t say mean-spirited things about yourself. I can’t allow that. You’ve treated me with more generosity than nearly anyone I’ve ever met.” She wanted to move closer but she felt paralyzed by the enormity of what was happening. “Captain Solo, think of what you’re proposing. I have no family name, no money. No mother brought me up to be a proper lady. I don’t know anything about canning food or fine sewing or…lighthouses,” she gestured helplessly. She couldn’t make him understand what a fraud she felt. “I don’t know how to…be a wife.”

A look of understanding passed over his face. “I don’t know how to be a husband. Frankly, I never expected to be one. I’m no prize in many ways, miss. But I promise never to expect anything more from you than you’re prepared to give. I think we might…suit each other. I think we could be good companions. That’s as solid a basis for marriage as anything I know.”

A flock of terns streaked low across the sand and settled in a long, squawking line on the bridge railing. Dark-shaped marine animals sunned themselves on the rocks beyond the tide. Life and color were everywhere here. “Please say yes,” he implored.

“Yes,” she breathed. The world ought to stop on its axis but it went right on spinning. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Captain Solo grinned in relief, a wide, dimpled thing like she had never seen from him. It transformed his entire appearance. He was younger, somehow, less careworn. Her future husband. The home she had always needed.

“What do we do now?” She hadn’t slept all night and everything felt a little hazy around the edges, a little less-than-real.

“The first thing I’d ask is that you stop calling me Captain Solo. I wish everyone would but you especially.”

She wondered why he disliked the title but now didn’t seem the moment. They suddenly had a lifetime to learn each other.

“What would you like me to call you?”

He smiled shyly. “My given name is Benjamin. When I was younger, my father used to call me Ben.”

“Ben,” she whispered and she swore he _shivered_. “You must call me Rey.”

“Rey.” His lips slid across the word like a caress. “Well, Rey, if you’ll give me a few moments to clean myself up, I think you and I need to speak to my mother.”

~~~

“What did you say?”

“I said, I’ve asked Miss Johnson to be my wife and she’s accepted me. I’m sorry, Mother, I know this is a difficult day to—”

“Yes, Benjamin, that is an understatement. I’ve just lost my oldest and dearest friend, and spent the morning seeing to her funeral arrangements. But my bewilderment right now stems chiefly from the fact that, until this very moment, I hardly realized you _knew_ Miss Johnson, let alone intended to marry her.”

Mrs. Solo sat rigidly on a wingback chair in the front parlor. Rey had never been inside the boarding house. This was the place where Ben—it felt so strange to think of him that way—grew up. The contrast with her own childhood could hardly be clearer.

Ben stood by the fireplace, hands locked behind his back, staring at the photographs on the mantel. Rey wished he had sat beside her on the sofa before they told his mother the news. The woman’s eyes were boring through her and she wanted his shoulders to hide behind.

All the consideration the widow had shown her earlier was gone. It was understandable, Rey supposed; she was protecting her child. “Am I mistaken in my estimation or has Miss Johnson been a resident of Aurellia for barely two weeks’ time?” She looked sharply at Rey. “I don’t recall you mentioning an acquaintance with my son when we spoke mere hours ago.”

“Mother,” Ben warned, “we came here to inform you of our engagement and obtain your blessing, if possible. Not to ask your permission.”

“That much is evident. Not a very humane position to put one’s parent in, if I may say. To show up at my home on such an awful day—”

“It wasn’t our intention to intrude on your grief. Only to tell you that Miss Johnson will not be leaving and you needn’t go to any trouble on that account.”

Mrs. Solo stared at her son, eyes huge with dawning realization. Then she turned slowly back to Rey. “So that’s where you disappeared to this morning. I spoke to you about returning to the city and you made straight for my son to secure a marriage proposal.”

“Mother!” Ben crossed the room in two strides and put himself between them. “I realize this has caught you off guard. But I’ll remind you that Miss Johnson is my fiancée, soon to be my wife and your daughter under the law. Please don’t say anything else that will wound all of us.”

“How did you expect me to react, Benjamin? Leave aside Marjorie’s death. How did you think I would feel to learn my only boy has tied himself to a foundling shop girl not here long enough to have collected her first month’s wages?”

Ben balled his hands into fists to cover their shaking. “I’m not a boy. I’ve served my country, honorably I hope. Held men as they died in my arms, sobbing for their homes and sweethearts. Nearly died myself. After enduring that much suffering, surely my own mother doesn’t begrudge my happiness.”

His voice was so vulnerable, so pleading for her acceptance, that Rey wanted to weep. Mrs. Solo was similarly affected. But she wasn’t prepared to surrender the field just yet. “I’m sure Miss Johnson has many fine qualities. But how can you possibly know, after so little time, that this is the right choice?”

Ben sat on the edge of the sofa and reached for his mother’s hand. She still wore her blue-stoned engagement ring. “I know the same way Father knew. He told me the day he first saw you, he felt thunderstruck. That’s exactly how I felt when I saw her. And I’ve felt stronger every day since.” He wasn’t looking at Rey but she knew he was blushing from the admission. She was light-headed.

Mrs. Solo’s indignation deflated a little. “You’re a grown man, of course. If this is your decision, there’s nothing I can do to prevent it.”

“I realize you may need time to get used to the idea but I hope you won’t just accept it. I hope you’ll be glad about it. I never expected to marry, Mother. I fully intended to spend my life at the point and die alone, grieved by no one. But now someone sweet and lovely and resilient has agreed to spend it with me. Surely that’s cause for joy, not bitterness?”

The widow sighed heavily, squeezing their still-clasped hands. “Even if I were to accept this whole-heartedly, I still don’t understand the rush. You’ve told me your plans, fine. Miss Johnson will not be sent back to the city. You’ve achieved your desired ends. Why not wait a decent interval, let the village see a respectable courtship?”

“Hang the village! I don’t care one bit about anyone’s good opinion but hers. She’s been waiting all her life for a proper home and I don’t see any reason to delay one minute longer than necessary. If I apply for a license as soon as the Town Hall opens tomorrow, we can be married on Saturday.”

His mother’s mouth tightened in displeasure. “People will talk, Benjamin. If you marry her on Saturday, people will say you _had_ to. There’s no other explanation that makes sense. Surely you see that.”

“People _talk_ endlessly. We can’t make decisions that affect the course of our lives based on Miss Connix’s fondness for gossip.” He was trying so desperately to keep his temper but was clearly aggravated.

“Easy enough for you to say. It’s never the man’s reputation that’s dragged through the mud. Think of your future wife, of her standing in this community.”

That arrow struck home. Ben scowled. Mrs. Solo saw her opening and pressed the advantage. “You can’t possibly marry this week. We have to give poor Marjorie a decent burial. She was like family to us. There must be a mourning period. And then there are wedding arrangements to be made. Miss Johnson can’t stay in the grocery unchaperoned. She can live here until the ceremony. She’ll need time for planning and preparation. Be reasonable, Benjamin.”

His resolve was crumbling. “How much time do you suggest?”

“Give it another month, at least.” When he bristled, she added, “When word gets it out, it won’t be utterly scandalous, merely shocking. I understand you are eager to begin your life together but believe me, a month will barely be enough time to have the wedding dress made.”

A wedding dress? The thought had never crossed Rey’s mind. The way his head snapped up confirmed it had not crossed Ben’s, either. But the tenderness of his eyes told her he was definitely picturing it now.

Her campaign apparently won, Mrs. Solo addressed Rey. “You’re conspicuously quiet, Miss Johnson. My son has expressed his thoughts on this matter quite ardently. What do you have to say for yourself?” She held up an imperious hand to cut off Ben’s objection.

“I know I’m not what you hoped for—” Ben tried again to interject but she touched a fingertip to his wrist and he fell silent, “—but I promise you that I’ll do everything in my power to be a good and faithful wife to your son. It’s true, we haven’t known each other long. But he is already dearer to me than I could ever have imagined.” She ought to be looking at his mother, making her case as forcefully as possible. But she couldn’t seem to pull her focus from his face. It was shining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dr. Kalonia](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Harter_Kalonia) is female and yes, there were female doctors, even in rural areas, as early as the later nineteenth century. My town had one. She graduated from medical school in the 1870s, had an office on Main Street and made house calls. She advertised on the front page of the town newspaper every week for years. She also ran a free clinic for women and children in a nearby city. It felt appropriate to have Dr. Kalonia called in for poor Mrs. Kanata.
> 
> "Star Wars Rebels" shout out to [Alrich Wren](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Alrich_Wren).
> 
> I thought about making Ben Kenobi a Catholic priest—Maine is overwhelmingly white and heavily Catholic—but I didn’t want to deal with whatever brakes the church would try to apply to a quickie wedding.


	5. Chapter 5

Time began to misbehave badly. It stretched and shrank, making each day run both faster and slower together, until Rey thought she was going loony.

The very same evening they spoke to Ben’s mother, Rey packed up her modest case and said goodbye to the grocery. Poor Mrs. Kanata had already been removed from the building to be prepared for burial. The shop was ghostly still and her footsteps echoed somberly on the treads. Mrs. Solo argued she should keep the bicycle, in lieu of the two weeks’ wages she had not collected, and promised to speak to the executor of the estate to sort everything out.

Moving into the boarding house was strange, to say the least. At the widow’s request, she did not mention her engagement to the other women. The Tico sisters and Miss Robinson welcomed her with great sympathy at the loss of her situation. No one seemed to expect her to actually grieve for Maz, given how short a time they had known each other, but she found that she did.

Ben’s duties kept him at the lighthouse and, under Mrs. Solo’s watchful eye, midnight jaunts to Chandrila Point were no longer possible. The next time she saw him was at Maz’s funeral. The service was held in the old Methodist Church, a brick beauty under construction when President Lincoln drew his final breath. The Solos had a pew set aside for their use, as did many of the village’s oldest families.

Mrs. Solo explained to Rey before the funeral that she would be sitting in this family pew, rather than with the other female boarders, who tended to congregate on the opposite side of the sanctuary. The village would interpret this as a gesture of kindness to Rey, given her connection to the departed. But in reality, Mrs. Solo was laying a careful groundwork, subtly preparing Aurellia for news of the young captain’s marriage. She was quite the strategist.

After the burial, a luncheon was held at the boarding house. Rey kept mainly to herself, not knowing most of the attendees. She wanted desperately to speak with Ben but was afraid to draw public attention and upset her future mother-in-law on what was already a hard day. The widow had been unfailingly polite since Rey moved in. They had tea together each afternoon to “get better acquainted.” But there was still a measure of coolness in Mrs. Solo’s demeanor, or at least wariness. She was clearly not convinced that marrying Miss Johnson—as she continued to call her—was in her son’s best interests.

Miss Connix was busy serving guests in the front rooms so the kitchen was blessedly quiet. Rey was nibbling on a delicious little tomato tart when the door opened and Ben slipped in, closing it quickly behind him. Raising a finger to his lips, he grabbed her free hand and led her past the pantry, to the cellar door.

The cellar was only partially underground; there were enough hopper windows that the space was dim, but not dark. The sounds of chatter and many feet shuffling overhead drifted through the floor. Ben tugged her into a back alcove, out of view of the stairs. “I’m sorry for the subterfuge. I couldn’t bear the thought of not talking to you all day. My only options were this or trying to sneak you up into the attic.” He smiled sweetly. “How are you holding up?”

“Better now,” she said truthfully, brushing a wisp of cobweb from his shoulder. She wanted to tell him how handsome he looked in his jacket and vest but somehow, she still felt shy of him. “I hope Mrs. Kanata knew how loved she was.”

“So do I,” he agreed. “She never liked a fuss but I don’t think she would have minded a town-wide celebration in her honor.” He was still holding her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. “How are things here, with my mother?”

“She’s been very cordial. And generous, too. She gave me some fabrics and the other boarders are helping me make new dresses in the evenings. And Miss Robinson is teaching me how to knit my cardigan, you remember? You won’t have to be ashamed of your pauper bride,” she teased.

“That would never happen,” he answered earnestly. They had been engaged, admittedly in secret, for nearly a week but they had never kissed. Ben’s eyes were so dark and serious she thought surely now must be the moment but instead he said, “I have something for you, too. I didn’t plan on giving it to you in a cellar but…I can’t wait another minute to see if you like it.”

From his pocket, he pulled a small box. Inside was a ring, a green stone set in a thin, silvery band. “It’s an emerald, from a family heirloom that belonged to my grandmother. I had it reset into the ring. Don’t worry,” he said at her panicked expression. “I hitched a ride over to Birren to avoid scandal.” He widened his eyes melodramatically at the word and she couldn’t help but giggle. “I picked it up this morning. I know you can’t wear it publicly yet but…may I?” At her nod, he pulled the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger.

With a huff of satisfaction, he angled her closer to the window, so the sunlight could flash and sparkle off the stone. It set little rainbows chasing across the walls. “I don’t know why—maybe because you talked about how you always longed for ‘life and color.’ The moment you said yes, I imagined you wearing my ring. And in my mind, the stone was green. Do you like it?”

He was standing so close, holding her hand as if it were the most precious thing in the world to him. _He is already dearer to me than I could ever have imagined_ , she had told his mother. And that was true but it didn’t go nearly far enough. “It’s like a dream,” she whispered.

The pull was so strong between them that they both swayed in the dusty light. Ben leaned down and she rose up on tiptoe to meet him, gravity moving the tide. But upstairs in the kitchen, someone dropped a piece of flatware right over their heads. It banged and clattered for an endless moment, breaking the spell.

“It’s probably just as well,” he said sheepishly. “We don’t want to spend the rest of our lives remembering our first kiss happened in a musty old wash room.” Instead, he lifted the hand bearing his ring and kissed it gallantly.

“Can you stay?” she asked. “After everyone’s gone, perhaps we could sit in the garden. Or take a walk together?”

He looked apologetic. “I have to get back to the point. I’ve been neglecting my duties rather shamefully this week. There are things I need to do while it’s still light out.”

“What sorts of things?”

“I’ll explain everything once you’re settled there, I promise. In the meantime, my mother has formally invited me to Sunday dinner. I was told that afterward, I’m permitted to escort you on a walk around the neighborhood. No touching, I’m afraid.”

Rey flushed to think of Ben’s mother giving him such a warning. “She’s very thorough, isn’t she?”

He laughed. “She likes to manage and she does it well. As long as things are good for you—as long as you’re content to be here—I’m happy to let her. But if that changes, say the word and we’ll elope.”

“I think I can last three more weeks. But ask me again on Sunday.” She gave him a meaningful smirk.

“Is something happening between now and Sunday that I should know about?”

Rey sighed happily. “We have an appointment tomorrow. To order my wedding dress.”

~~~

Madame Holdo’s was a _Godey’s Lady’s Book_ fashion plate come to life. Rey knew that because a single, ancient issue of the magazine lived on a shelf in the matron’s office, and Miss Emmie had allowed her to thumb through it whenever she’d earned a special treat.

Every imaginable color of fabric lined the walls. There were baubles and buttons and buckles of all conceivable descriptions. Feathered fans so large you’d disappear behind them were displayed next to beaded purses so miniscule Rey wondered what purpose they served.

“Leia!” Madame Holdo cried, appearing from the back room in a cloud of floral scent. “It’s been too long since you’ve been in my shop. Are my humble creations not stylish enough for you?”

“A good deal too stylish, as you well know, Amilyn. I’m an old frump and delighted to be so.” Self-deprecating comments aside, the suit she was wearing was impeccable, if a bit dated.

Madame Holdo told her so. “Nonsense. Allow me to shorten those skirts a bit, give you both haircuts, and I could have two bona fide flappers in my establishment by lunchtime.” Her own hair was cut into a terribly modern curled bob.

“Oh, I do hate that word,” Mrs. Solo tutted. “And I’m not here for myself but to request your services on behalf of this young lady.” She urged Rey forward. “Amilyn Holdo, allow me to introduce Miss Rey Johnson.”

Madame Holdo shook her hand. “I’ve seen you through my window, flying all over town on that wonderful cycle. I’m glad we finally have the chance to meet in person.” She glanced at the widow. “I was so sorry to hear about Mrs. Kanata. She was a rare soul. It’s a real loss to the community. And obviously to her friends. I hear the grocery is soon to reopen under new management.”

Rey looked at Leia, startled, but the older woman already knew. “Yes, her executor is handling everything. As I understand it, the shop is leased pending a final settling of the estate and sale. I hear it’s two gentlemen from out of state. Curious names. Something like Orka & Flix.”

Madame Holdo gave a started hoot. “That sounds more like a traveling carnival act than a pair of grocers.”

“I suppose we’ll see how it goes,” Leia said, but her grim tone suggested her hopes were not high.

“I apologize, Miss Johnson. I’ve dragged us off the topic at hand. I take it you’re now living at the boarding house. Do your future plans require a new wardrobe?” Madame Holdo was the soul of tact but Rey couldn’t miss the way the woman looked her over. She had worn the green traveling dress, since none of her new frocks were finished. She had the strong impression that Madame Holdo wouldn’t use it to line a birdcage.

“Amilyn,” Leia interjected, “I need to ask you for your…discretion.”

“Of course,” the dressmaker replied, as her eyes flicked almost imperceptibly to Rey’s stomach, then just as quickly snapped back up. Rey’s throat tightened in mortification. She didn’t know much about such matters but she understood exactly what she was presumed guilty of.

So did Mrs. Solo. “No, no. Nothing like that. Miss Johnson is a young woman of sterling character. That having been said, she and my son have formed an attachment. He has informed me of their intention to marry. As you know, my son is a very private man and he prefers not to have a lengthy, public courtship. The ceremony will take place at the end of the month.”

If Madame Holdo was astonished to learn that the son of one of Aurellia’s most prominent families had engaged himself to an unemployed orphan, she did not show it. If nothing else, she was on the verge of a lucrative commission. “First, allow me to offer both of you my heartiest congratulations. Any woman would be lucky to find herself the recipient of Captain Solo’s affections. Long life and happiness to you both.” Her eyes were warm and her words sounded sincere. “Now, down to brass tacks. Three weeks is a very narrow window for constructing a wedding dress from scratch. It might be possible but it will depend entirely on what you want, Miss Johnson. I have some magnificent silks in the back room. Lighter than air. If you’ll just wait one moment—”

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary,” Rey cried in a near-panic. “I don’t need anything that—” It seemed rude to say _expensive_ but that was what she was thinking and they all knew it.

“Rey,” Leia said gently, “you needn’t worry about the cost.”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to—”

“It isn’t me, dear. Benjamin was quite clear that you were to have whatever you wanted. He also gave strict instructions, Amilyn, that we are not to leave here without ordering Miss Johnson a proper winter coat.”

Madame Holdo winked at her. “Shall I bring the silks?”

But that wasn’t what Rey wanted and she stood her ground. “No, please. I don’t need a terribly expensive dress—as wonderful as I’m sure it would be—that I can only wear one day. I’d much prefer to pick out something simpler, something I might wear again on special occasions.”

Amilyn glanced at Leia, who shrugged in resignation. “If that’s what the bride wants, that is what she gets.”

The next two hours were a whirlwind, a scene from a sensational, dime store novel. Madame Holdo produced dress after dress, asking about the shade of this one, the drape of that one. Which did Rey like best? She hardly knew. No one had ever deferred to her opinion on anything. What was the point of having opinions, if they were never asked for or respected? She learned as she went, each decision giving her a clearer picture in her own mind of what was important to her and what was not. By lunchtime, Madame Holdo had a sketch in hand and a list of decisions. “So we’ve settled on the chiffon in ice blue. Add a smart little cloche with a matching band and you’ll be the gossamer bride of his dreams, Miss Johnson.”

Rey offered the sketch to Leia. “What do you think? Will this be suitable?”

Leia gave her an inscrutable look. There was something almost…affectionate in it. Approving. “I think it’s marvelous. You’ll look stunning. And while I’m sure Benjamin was perfectly sincere when he said you should have whatever you wanted, I think he’ll also be pleased to hear how sensible you are. Well done.”

~~~

“Do you think I ought to cut my hair?” she asked on their Sunday walk.

Ben barked a laugh. “Whatever makes you ask that?”

“Madame Holdo says short hair is the fashion. She says the way I wear my hair makes me look older than my years.” She touched the knot at the nape of her neck self-consciously.

There was no one around but he lowered his voice anyway. “I think you should wear your hair anyway you want to. If you want to cut it or curl it or dye it madder root red, you’ll still be charming. But if you’re asking my opinion, I like it just the way it is.”

She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road but her smile was meant for him alone.

“I take it your trip to Madame Holdo’s was a success, then? Her hair advice notwithstanding?” Mrs. Solo had invited Ben to join the household for Sunday dinner but the meal included all the boarders. Since their engagement wasn’t public, they couldn’t discuss wedding planning over steamed halibut and beets.

“Yes, I ordered a dress. _And_ a winter coat. And…other things.”

“Other things?” He repeated blankly.

Her mouth was dry. “Yes. Other things. Things…you’ll see later.” She could hardly finish the sentence. Leia had contended she needed something called a _trousseau_. Rey had never heard the word but the instant she saw the airy, delicate material that slipped like water through her fingers, she knew what it meant.

Ben was silent. When she chanced a look in his direction, his face was madder root red.

She ought to change the subject but something else was on her mind. “Your mother was right, you know. About people making assumptions. The moment she explained why we were there, Madame Holdo…well, it was obvious what she thought.”

“I’m sorry, obvious how?” It occurred to Rey for the first time that Ben might be as ignorant of some things as she was of others. Maybe that’s why people got married, to pool their knowledge.

“She looked at my middle,” Rey murmured, careful to check first for anyone out enjoying the spring air.

Ben made a noise, something between a gasp and a grunt. “It doesn’t matter,” she assured him. “To me, I mean. I just thought you should know. In case you decided it mattered to you.”

“Do you want to wait? Put the wedding off? Keep living with my mother?”

“No,” she said decisively. “I want to get married. I want to have a place in the world. With you.”

“Good,” he answered, his fingers brushing past hers so quickly she might have imagined it. “That’s what I want, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: What did the average New England grocery store employee make per week in the 1920s?  
> A: $19.24 (1929) if it was a chain store  
> Q: Average cost of a new bicycle in the same period?  
> A: Around $30
> 
> Where my "Star Wars Resistance" [stans](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Orka) at?


	6. Chapter 6

It was Kay who let her know the jig was up.

She had gone down to the kitchen to get a glass of warm milk. The boarders weren’t supposed to go into the kitchen, particularly after hours, but she wasn’t actually a boarder—though the rest didn’t know that yet. She hoped Mrs. Solo wouldn’t mind. It was so difficult to sleep at the best of times.

Miss Connix was finishing the end-of-day cleaning when she pushed through the door. The girl immediately assumed an offended air and averted her eyes in a way that begged to be questioned. Rey decided to oblige. “Is something the matter?”

“Excuse me but I’m not speaking to you,” she replied indignantly, then added a pronounced, “Miss.”

“Why ever not? Have I done something wrong?”

The maid glanced theatrically around the kitchen, checking for listening ears. Then she rounded on Rey. “How could you? I thought we were friends!”

“I have no idea—”

“You’re to marry Captain Solo! The entire village says so,” she hissed.

Rey had been bracing for the inevitable hurricane of gossip once the engagement was announced but having it thrown in her face in a dressing gown caught her flat-footed. “Who says…why do they think…?”

“You were with the widow at Madame Holdo’s for an entire morning last week. Captain Solo was seen at the jeweler’s in Birren. _And_ you’ve walked out together several times. All it took after that was for someone to ask the clerk at Town Hall if a license had been applied for and sure enough, this very morning, he issued one to your betrothed. Everyone is buzzing about it. You might have told me, at least.” She sounded genuinely hurt.

“I’m sorry, Kay. It happened suddenly and Mrs. Solo asked us not to say anything straight away.”

“But why suddenly? What’s the rush?”

There was an opportunity here. Miss Connix liked gossip, and if she were to find herself in possession of information the entire town wanted, the temptation would be too great to resist. By choosing her words carefully, Rey might be able to get the truth circulating in place of unkind speculation.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked, and Kay nodded so emphatically Rey stifled a laugh. “We happened to meet a few times after I first arrived, at the grocery and the Reading Room and so forth. He was kind and we got on well. When poor Mrs. Kanata died, there was talk of shipping me back to the city on the first train. Captain Solo asked if I’d consider staying in Aurellia as his wife. I was honored to accept.”

The maid’s disappointment was comical. “That’s all? No passionate, hidden love affair? No necking or petting or anything? Someone isn’t forcing him to make an honest woman of you?”

Rey cinched the dressing gown tighter. “Captain Solo has been a perfect gentleman at all times. We haven’t—” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “—we haven’t even kissed.”

Miss Connix’s eyes grew huge. “How can you possibly marry someone you haven’t kissed? We’re modern women, aren’t we? We have to look out for ourselves, test the waters a bit. What if, after the wedding, you find out you don’t like kissing him?”

She had a sudden, vivid image of Ben standing over her at the point, sunlight on his shoulders, his lips filling her vision. “I’m not worried about that.”

Kay smirked. “So you do like him. You didn’t just say yes because he’s the first one who ever asked.”

“Of course not. He’s a good man. Gentle and considerate. He’ll make a wonderful husband, I’m certain of it. I only hope I can be as good a wife to him.”

Kay finished scouring the work table and hung up her cleaning rag to dry. “You won’t mind living out at the point? I think I’d go batty if I had to stay out there, a slave to that lighthouse all year round.”

Somehow, every question the girl asked made her more positive she had made the right decision. “I love the lighthouse. I can’t wait to live there.”

Miss Connix’s face darkened. “Do you remember what I told you, about how hard the war was on him? And that terrible scar—”

“We all have scars,” Rey interrupted firmly. “Some are just more obvious than others.”

Kay opened her mouth again, no doubt intending to raise another objection, but the kitchen door opened and Mrs. Solo walked in. “I thought I heard chatter in here. Miss Connix, whatever’s left to do will surely keep until morning. You should get to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the maid answered meekly, shooting Rey a sympathetic look before leaving the room.

“You’re a bit early for breakfast, aren’t you?” the older woman asked, a distinct twinkle in her eye.

“I came down for a glass of warm milk.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“How did you know?”

“That was always Benjamin’s way, when he couldn’t sleep.” She took a small saucepan off a hook on the wall, retrieved the milk bottle from the ice box, and struck a match to light the gas burner on the range. “You two seem to have more in common than first appearances might suggest.” A few moments later, she poured the steaming milk into a glass and handed it to Rey.

“Thank you. I’ve just heard from Miss Connix that news of our engagement is spreading around town.”  
  


“So I heard. I’m not in the habit of listening at keyholes but in a quiet house, sound does carry.” Rey clutched the glass to her chest, trying to remember whether she had said anything she should be embarrassed by.

“Has Benjamin told you anything about his late father? My husband was an orphan, born into poverty. I have to remind myself of that from time to time. He had a strong work ethic, as you obviously do. And he was desperately handsome.” She smiled, somewhere else in time and space. “I lost my head completely. My parents did not approve, at least not at first. They assumed his reasons for proposing must be entirely self-interested, that he wanted the family fortune or the connections of our name. But the truth was, he just wanted me. Sometimes love captures the heart when you least expect it.”

Rey drew a slow breath, to steady her voice. “No one has ever loved me. I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it. But I mean to try.” Mrs. Solo nodded encouragingly, then patted her cheek.

“I think it’s time we inform the household that there will be a wedding here at the end of the month. Then we can finally begin making plans in the open.”

~~~

At the breakfast table the next morning, Mrs. Solo announced her son’s engagement to the boarders. Her words were received with precisely the mix of stunned silence and amazement that Rey had expected, followed by the crushing weight of every eye in the room resting on her at once. But Leia Solo, as always, had planned her actions with care. Misses Tico and Robinson had to leave immediately for work at the druggist, and the elder Miss Tico was next to depart for Birren with the two other female students staying in the house. “This way, they have all day to get past the general excitement before you have to speak with them,” the widow explained.

With her blessing, Rey cycled out to Chandrila Point to collect her engagement ring at last. She found Ben sawing lumber on trestles outside the shop, a stack of finished planks on the ground beside him.

“Good morning,” he called down the hill. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She wheeled the bicycle up the last few yards and tipped it into the grass. “Our shameful secret is out,” she teased.

His face clouded. “What does that mean?”

“It means, I learned from Miss Connix last night that everyone in town fancies themselves Sherlock Holmes and has been piecing together the clues of our connection. So this morning, your mother made things official over cod fish cakes and mutton chops.”

“And how did that go?”

“Just as you’d imagine. It will all be fine, I’m sure. Mrs. Solo suggested I start wearing my ring now, to make things more formal.”

“I see.” He laid the blade on the trestle, brushing away the sawdust that clung to the downy hairs on his forearms. “And is that the only reason you’ve come out?”

“No, of course not,” she answered, taking his outstretched hand. “I missed the lighthouse terribly.”

Ben chuckled, tentatively reaching to coax back the strands of hair blown into her face by the sea breeze. “You’re a cruel woman, Miss Johnson. I’ll fetch your ring. Why don’t you meet me at the end of the bridge and I can finally show you the top of the lighthouse?”

“Alone?”

“If you don’t feel comfortable—” he began.

“Of course, I feel comfortable with you. I agreed to marry you, didn’t I?”

He inched closer, face soft with happiness. “You did. You haven’t changed your mind about that yet?”

Rey screwed up her nose in mock concentration. “Hmm…no, I think I still will.”

Ben pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles, grinning all the while. “I’ll be right back.”

When he came out of the house a few moments later, she was examining a measured sketch he’d left on the ground, weighed down against the wind with a rock. “What are you doing with all this wood, anyway? I can’t work out what this is.”

“Just a little improvement project. Not important,” he demurred. “I thought you wanted to climb?”

The tower, he explained as they crossed the long wooden bridge, was nearly twenty-five feet high. The bottom half was made of solid granite blocks, the top half of brick courses, all plastered and whitewashed smooth. On top of the brick sat the cast-iron section known as the lantern, which held the light itself. All told, from the base on the rocks to the tip of its lightning rod, it measured more than thirty-five feet above sea level. But compared to most lighthouses, this one was petite.

“The tallest one in America is down in Cape Hatteras. It’s more than two hundred feet tall. But I’ve read about some in Europe that are nearly three hundred.” He unbolted the door, punched right into the center of the tower. Inside, a metal staircase spiraled up a single level, to a trap door that led into the lantern. Another trap door in the floor led down to a storage room. That was where the kerosene for fueling the light was kept, delivered every six weeks through arrangement with the Lighthouse Service.

“Did you always want to be a keeper?” she wondered. Ben was carefully securing the trapdoor in the floor, having showed her the neat line of drums packed away in the cool, damp darkness. In storms, that part of the tower would be below the water line.

“Not really.” He beckoned for her to follow him up the narrow stairs. “My father had a cargo business when he was my age. I guess I always assumed I’d pilot my own vessel someday.” He hoisted the trap door above his head open and sunlight flooded down into the column. Once he was in the lantern level, he reached a hand down to pull Rey up behind him. There was little space for maneuvering and it was much warmer in the glass room.

“In a few weeks, I’ll have to start lowering these window shades every day. If it gets too hot inside the lantern, it can damage the mechanism.” He pulled a fabric cover up and off the object in the dead center of the space, revealing an enormous, faceted prism made of thick glass. “Most of my responsibilities are tending to the light. Every day I clean the lens, and all the windows, top to bottom. I maintain the mechanical systems that rotate the lens at night; they need winding just like a giant watch. I make sure there’s plenty of wick and kerosene on hand. I’m even supposed to launder and press the lens cover regularly. The Lighthouse Service is keen that everything be kept just so and they do snap inspections every few months to make sure of it. We can go outside, if you like. Are you afraid of heights?”

Rey had never been very far off the ground, so she wasn’t sure if heights would bother her, but she was eager to find out. Ben opened a small door onto the metal walk encircling the lantern, called the ‘gallery deck.’ The cold air smarted but the view of the bay was spectacular. He pointed out a tanker on the horizon, told her about the buoy tenders that constantly repainted and replaced markers anchored in the water, so ships could steer their way through treacherous straits. There were animals bobbing up and down in the surf and he finally gave her a name to put to them, harbor seals.

“There’s an island not far beyond that point with wild raspberry canes and blueberry patches. This summer I’ll sail you over there,” he promised. “And there are clamming beds in that direction my father used to take me to when I was a boy. It’s messy work but I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it.” He bent over the railing, such clear contentment on his face that her chest ached.

“You never finished your story, about how you came to be keeper here.”

He nodded. “A man I served with in the war became superintendent of this lighthouse district. He offered me the post. It’s common for navy men, since you have to understand coastal weather and boating conditions and so on.” He turned back toward the house, which looked like a plaything even from such a modest height. “This is a stag station, meaning one man can manage it. There are two- and even-three men stations, some that allow families and some that don’t. There are even lights so far out at sea that the men do six-week rotations, on and off-land. They only get fresh supplies and mail when they change crews. Families aren’t allowed at those postings. Too remote. Too dangerous.”

“Sounds dreadfully lonely,” she observed.

“You can be lonely anywhere,” he countered quietly. “Or not. It’s all in how you think about it, I guess. Like the lighthouse. It means safety and danger, home and death. Just depends on where you’re standing, if you see what I mean.”

“And where are you standing?” she asked, laying a hand on his elbow.

His face was somber when he finally answered. “I’ve always loved this place, and the ocean, for as long as I can remember. But the very worst moments of my life happened on the water, too. I try not to think on those too much, try not to let them spoil all the rest. But they’re always there, Rey, and you deserve to know that.”

She leaned into his side, risking an affectionate tug on his suspender. “I understand. Maybe better than you think. You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to. But if you ever decide you do, I’ll be glad to listen. I have stories of my own I might share sometime, if I ever get brave enough.”

A sharp gust hit their backs, knocking them a fraction closer together. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the engagement ring. It flashed green fire as he slipped it onto the hand that still rested against his chest. When he traced the line of her wrist, her heart lurched behind her ribs.

Ben dipped closer, the wind tangling their hair together. “May I kiss you?” he whispered.

A giddy sort of weightlessness came over her, standing at this dizzying height with this breathtaking man who would soon be her husband. “You may always kiss me. On one condition.”

That gave him pause, but only for a beat. “Name it.”

“That I may always kiss you.”

He laughed, deep and easy. “You drive a hard bargain. But I accept your terms.”

His lips were soft and warm as summer sunshine. She had a mad urge to cackle as she suddenly remembered Kay’s warning that she might not like kissing him. She liked it very much, indeed. And judging by the sounds Ben was making, the way he twisted his fingers through her hair to nudge her face even closer, she was confident he liked it, too. When he finally pulled back, it was only to press his forehead against hers. He was panting, just a little.

“Anytime I want. You promised. Don’t forget,” she teased.

“I’m sure I’ll never forget this to my dying day, Miss Johnson.” He nuzzled her cheek with a chilled nose, then huffed self-consciously. “It’s a good thing my mother made her announcement. We haven’t exactly been discreet. The light’s visible from ten miles away. With a pair of binoculars, half the county and anyone on the bay could see us here.”

Somehow, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have cherry-picked facts from both the American and British lighthouse services across the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Strictly speaking, not all of this may be accurate for 1920ish coastal Maine.
> 
> (I know you guys don't care, but my conscience demands the disclaimer!)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a generous wedge of treacle tart with a handful of Turkish Delight sprinkled on top. Insulin is available in the gift shop.

Once the wedding was over, Rey would never remember it clearly. Only fleeting impressions, sense memories, remained. The heady fragrance of the peonies covering the parlor mantel in showy extravagance; the sigh of chiffon against her skin; the wrenching beauty of Ben’s face when he first saw her. People told her afterward that Reverend Kenobi’s remarks were moving, that the smoked salmon and egg canapés were delicious, but she had to take their word for it. There was no room in her brain for anything but a drumbeat of realizations that filled her with happiness so piercing it terrified her.

_I am married._

_I am someone’s wife, his partner._

_I have a family and a name that is real._

_I belong to him._

_He belongs to me._

When Ben informed the Lighthouse Service of his intention to marry in early June, his commanding officer had asked if he wanted an “occasional” to take his place on Chandrila Point for a few days, to allow him time with his new bride. But Rey was so eager to move to the lighthouse that he politely declined the offer.

After the wedding luncheon ended, they took their leave of Mrs. Solo and walked home, hand in hand. Ben carried the scuffed old case, now carefully packed with new-sewn clothes and lavender sprigs from the garden that Miss Connix left on Rey’s pillow that morning. He had offered to replace the luggage but she refused; it felt like tempting providence to forget so easily where one had come from.

As they approached the bottom of the hill, she could feel his entire frame tensing with anticipation. “Do you like it?” he asked, when they came into view of the house. “It’s your wedding present.”

Every window on the house and workshop had a neat, whitewashed window box filled with flowers—marigolds, petunias, colorful blossoms she couldn’t even name. “You made these? For me?”

“Come on,” he urged, tugging her gently toward the porch. “There’s more.”

From the porch railing, he pointed out the far side of the house. “The soil’s rocky here and the wind’s too strong for most crops to survive. But I think I could build some plant boxes and we might be able to have a small kitchen garden. Maybe on that trip to the island, we can bring a few raspberry canes back. Whatever you want to try.”

Ben unlocked the door and guided her into the small front room, a gentle pressure on the small of her back. It was the first time she had ever been inside this house that was now hers. On a corner table sat a polished wooden box. Atop the box rose a large brass horn, its interior rim hand painted in a spray of intricate roses. “Have you ever seen one of these before?” he asked. When Rey shook her head, he explained, “It’s an old-fashioned Edison phonograph. It belonged to my grandmother, Amidala. My mother hardly ever used it so I asked if we could have it. Someday we can get a wireless but for right now…” He turned the crank and the cylinder at the center of the box began to spin. The low, sweet tones of a waltz drifted through the room.

She was already overwhelmed but he held up a single finger, ordering, “Stay here,” and dashed out of the room, only to return a moment later with a small basket. Inside curled a tiny orange and white ball of fluff, sound asleep.

“Do you see?” he asked softly. He sounded as raw as she felt.

“A kitten?”

He smiled bashfully. “Yes, it’s a kitten. But, I mean, do you understand?”

Her brain was blank, dumbfounded in the face of such thoughtfulness. She stammered for a moment but no words would come.

“'Every real home must have three things,’” he quoted from memory, “'flowers, music, and some sort of animal.’”

At that, Rey burst into sobs and collapsed on the edge of the nearest chair. Ben put the basket on the floor and knelt in front of her in confusion. She wanted to tell him to get up, that he would spoil his lovely suit, but she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Did I do something wrong?” he begged. “I did. It’s too much. I shouldn’t have—”

She was already shaking her head rather vehemently but that didn’t stop his self-reproach so instead she grabbed his lapels and kissed him as hard as she could. There wasn’t a great deal of finesse in the gesture; she was no expert, not by any means. But what she lacked in polish, she made up for in enthusiasm. When she finally let him loose, his eyes were glassy.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, because she still couldn’t trust herself to speak.

He thumbed away the tears from both her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. Not this much, anyway.”

“I don’t know what to say. No one has ever—” Nothing she could come up with to finish the thought seemed enough. _Done anything so kind for me. Spent so much time thinking of my joy, even when I wasn’t around. Cared whether I lived or died._

_No one has ever been you._

She buried her face in the curve of his neck and they stayed that way, wrapped together, until a gentle scratching and mewling came from the floor. The fuzzy tips of two tender ears were just visible over the basket’s edge. Ben scooped up the kitten and deposited it in the soft fabric of her lap. It nosed at her hand, then licked her palm with a tiny coarse tongue. “Where did it come from?” she wondered.

“I think it was fate. I saw a boy down on the rocks last week, crying like there was no tomorrow. I went to see if he was alright and he had this little fellow, even smaller and punier than he is now. Said the mother cat died after the birth. They’d managed to foster out the rest of the litter but this was the runt. The boy’s father had sent him to drown it. I offered the condemned a reprieve.” His hands looked even larger, scratching the animal’s wee chin as it tried to purr. “Been feeding it canned milk with a medicine dropper. I’m up most nights anyway so it hasn’t been a bother.”

Despite all the attention, the kitten turned a few circles then settled down to sleep again, tail wrapped delicately over his bright pink nose. “That’s how he spends most of his days, curled up small as a BB.”

Rey giggled. Her cheeks were still wet but she felt light enough to float off the chair. “That’s what we should call him, then, BB.”

He pressed a kiss to one of her temples, then the other. “Let me show you the rest of the house. We can have dinner and then I’ll need to start making the light ready after that. Sunset’s at eighteen past seven tonight. The lamp has to be ready to go at that precise moment. All the lighthouses ignite at once. It’s bad form to be late.”

“Can I help?” she asked as he stood from the floor. The kitten offered no resistance when she lifted him to her chest and cradled him through the cheerful kitchen, with its vibrant red water pump, then up to the second floor.

“You’re welcome to learn anything you have an interest in. You should definitely learn the emergency procedures, like how to sound the fog bell or relight the lens, if anything happens to me.”

She had no interest in hearing the list of potential dangers he faced on her wedding day. Instead, she asked, “What was the procedure before, when you were here alone?”

From the top of the landing, he called back, “The Lighthouse Service keeps people on retainer all along the coast, to monitor the towers. If one puts out a distress signal, or goes dark entirely, they’re supposed to telegram the head office as soon as possible, so a crew can be dispatched to investigate.”

“That might address the problem with the light but what about you? If it ever went out, that would surely mean you were in terrible trouble.”

“The most important thing is always to get the light back up and running. If a nor’easter blows up without warning, hundreds of lives could be at risk right here in the bay. That’s the priority, not one person, sweetheart.” He said it so casually, as if he had been calling her _sweetheart_ for a lifetime. The kitten gave a little growl of irritation as she gripped him more tightly.

Ben stopped at the door directly opposite the stairs. For a beat he seemed conflicted, unsure whether to turn around or keep going. His shoulders rose and fell, apparently in response to a series of deep breaths, then he turned the knob and marched through, resolved at last. “This is…our, um…it’s the…”

It was a bedroom, of course, with white walls and a braided rug on the floor and little else. The bed wasn’t very large and had a plain coverlet. It looked harmless enough but her pulse began to thud dully in her ears. “We can change anything you like, about the entire house,” Ben blurted. “Wallpaper, fancier curtains, whatever you want. This is your home, too, and you should feel that way.” When she didn’t respond, it seemed to unnerve him. “I forgot your case. I’ll go get it.” He ran from the room; there was no other way to describe it.

Somehow, his anxiety calmed hers. The windows faced south and Rey admired the view, imagining what the kitchen garden might look like in full bloom come next summer. She had never taken off the cloche she’d worn to the wedding but she pulled it off now, setting it carefully on top of the only dresser. The kitten wriggled for its freedom, so she climbed onto the bed and watched him scamper toward the pillows the moment she set him down. She was kneeling on the mattress, tweaking his whiskers, when Ben returned with the case.

“You took off your hat,” he said flatly.

She touched her hair self-consciously. “Was I not supposed to?”

“No, of course. It’s just…you looked lovely today. You _look_ lovely. I never got a chance to tell you before now.”

“You look very handsome,” she managed, before the kitten clawed her thumb in a sneak attack. She gasped in shock.

“Did he get you? He’s surprisingly vicious when he wants to be. Don’t bleed on your pretty dress.” He dropped the case by the bureau and crossed, hesitantly, to the opposite side of the bed.

“He didn’t draw blood. Just startled me, that’s all.”

Ben seemed at a loss. He surveyed the room as if it were his first visit, too. “They asked if I wanted a second one, but I wasn’t sure what you…” he trailed off. She had no idea what he meant.

“A second what?”

He swallowed hard. “Bed.” His face was the color of a new-fired brick. “If there’s something we need, we can apply to the service for it. Or swap with another station. We could even ask my mother—”

“I’m sure everything that’s here is more than enough,” she interrupted. She couldn’t imagine asking Mrs. Solo for another bed. “Unless you wanted one?”

“Me? No, I—” He blinked repeatedly. “Though, to be honest, I’ve never…shared…with anyone else. I expect there must be a reason so many married folks sleep separately.”

That was news to her. “Do they? I don’t think I knew that. I’ve never shared, either. As bad as the home was, we each had our own cots.”

“Rey,” he said suddenly, “there’s something else you should know. I’m a poor sleeper. I get up at least once a night to check the light, more in bad weather, so I never sleep all that deeply. But it’s not just that.” He rubbed the back of his neck absently and she waited for him to continue. “There’s no sense keeping it from you. You’ll find out soon enough. I have nightmares. Bad ones. About the war. Maybe sleeping in separate rooms is something you’ll prefer before too long.”

She swung her legs over the mattress so she could slide across and sit next to him. “I’ve never slept well, either. It was dangerous to fall too deeply asleep in the home. You had to be on your guard all the time. And I have bad dreams. I was probably too small to remember my parents abandoning me but I dream about that night. About being pulled down a dark alley by someone I can’t see, then left behind. Too afraid to scream or chase after them but knowing that if I don’t find the courage, I’ll never seen them again and it will be my own fault. When I was younger, ten or twelve, I would wake in the middle of the night, sitting up and reaching as far as I could. I even fell out of bed once. Woke up hollering on the floor.”

“We’re quite the pair,” he observed, rather more sadly than she liked.

“So we’ll have lots of time to read Keats,” she shrugged good-naturedly. “Or anything else we please. We might not be able to make the bad memories go away but we can crowd them out with so many good ones, they’ll be starved for attention.”

She couldn’t quite name his expression—was it gratitude? He covered her hand on the blanket, twining their fingers together. The sounds of the ocean drifted in through the closed window. “I look forward to that.”


	8. Chapter 8

It began to rain as they ate dinner. Ben suggested she stay in the house while he activated the light. She had a lifetime to be drenched and freezing in the dark, he joked; no need to start on their wedding night.

After he’d gone, she went back up to the bedroom to unpack her case. Half the drawers in the bureau had been emptied and into these, she placed the few folded dresses and lavender. If she was going to help with the tower, particularly in bad weather, it might be best to make some trousers and get heavy boots. Perhaps Ben had older work clothes she could cut down and repurpose.

In the smallest drawer, she carefully laid out two exquisite nightgowns, in pale shades of cream and peach. These were the gifts from Leia, and her skin felt overwarm as she traced a band of sheer lace on the neckline of her favorite. That was the one she would wear tonight and her stomach fluttered like a hundred tiny ladybugs at the thought.

She hadn’t much idea of what to expect. For as long as she could remember, she’d been warned—obliquely and overtly—to protect her virtue at all costs. The sexes were kept strictly separated at the orphanage, and every girl knew she must never, ever find herself alone in a boy’s company. What was much less clear was what a “good” girl was required to do once she found herself safely married. She wondered if Ben was as nervous as she was.

Better to act than to wallow, she decided, changing into the silky peach. It was lighter than her wedding clothes, hardly like being dressed at all. The notion sent a fierce thrill skittering through her. But that was where her burst of confidence ended. What on earth was she supposed do now? What was he expecting? Should she cower under the covers with the lamp out, or meet him on the bridge under the stars, like some would-be Clara Bow? Rey was the farthest thing from an “It Girl” she could imagine, unless _it_ meant insecure and mousy.

In the end, she compromised, curling up on the parlor sofa with a blanket draped modestly around her. It took longer than she expected for him to finish his chores—so long, in fact that she began to wonder if he was delaying on purpose—and by the time he came in, she was immersed in a dog-eared copy of _A Room with a View_ , pulled from the small bookcase.

The clack of the latch startled her slightly but not as much as the way he crashed to a stop on the threshold. His hair was beaded with water droplets, the shoulders of his shirt soaked to transparency. He looked like a character in a fairy story, frozen solid by a wicked queen. But that would make her the queen and that couldn’t be right, could it?

“Were you going to close the door?” she prompted. The weather in early June was still chilly at night, particularly in a shower, and Rey was painfully aware of how little she was wearing.

Ben reached behind without shifting his eyes, yanking the door shut. He didn’t move any closer. After a moment, he said, with a touch of desperation, “I had a whole speech ready.”

“A speech?”

He nodded, with one of the heavy swallows she was already accustomed to. “A speech. About how we haven’t known each other long, and you shouldn’t feel obligated to do anything you weren’t ready for. How it might even be a good idea to wait, to end the gossip.”

“To wait,” she repeated. “How long?”

“Three months felt reasonable. Out there.”

“And now?”

“It feels…impossible.”

She laid the book aside. “You’re very far away.”

“I’m all wet. And I’m sure I stink of kerosene.”

“I don’t care,” she promised, holding out a hand.

An eternity passed before he left the safety of the doorway and joined her on the sofa. Getting him closer was her only goal from the moment he stepped into the house; now that he was sitting next to her, her mind seemed to white out, lose its way.

“This is what you meant by ‘other things,’” he murmured, eyes drinking her in so hungrily it felt like an act of intimacy all on its own.

“There’s another but this is my favorite,” she said with a shy smile.

He looked deadly earnest. “I can see why.”

Rose and Jannah had helped her pin her hair into an elegant chignon for the ceremony. She shook it loose when she changed out of her wedding frock. Ben was mesmerized by the chestnut waves falling down her back. “I had no idea your hair was so long,” he observed, reaching out to pull a curl taut, then watching it spring back. From there, it was mere inches to bare skin. She shuddered as he trailed the length of her arm, ending on a silvery scar on the back of her right hand.

“How did you get this?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me. I’d like to know. Unless you don’t want to tell me.”

She hugged the blanket a bit closer. “It isn’t that. It’s just not a very amusing story. I don’t want to spoil things.”

“You couldn’t, believe me.” He was caressing the spot, feather-light, with the pad of his thumb, as one might wipe away a tear.

“When I was about six, I was sent to help in the kitchen. There were always mounds of dishes and cups to wash. I was tall for my age but I couldn’t quite reach from the wash basin to the end of the draining board. The head cook was a hateful old lady. She despised children. I was nearly finished, washing my last glass, but when I reached out to put it down, I slipped and dropped it. It shattered on the tabletop. She insisted I’d done it on purpose. To teach me a lesson, she cut my hand with one of the pieces.”

While she spoke, Ben’s face went rigid with fury. He looked murderous, so threatening she added, “It was a long time ago. Miss Emmie let her go when she took over; maybe she heard stories about other children, I don’t know. I think she’s died since.”

He grabbed up her hand and kissed the scar fervently. “No one will ever hurt you again, do you hear me? Not while there is breath left in my body. And no one will ever lay a finger on our children, I swear to you.”

“I believe you,” she breathed.

Ben shook his head harshly. “Somehow, even after everything I’ve seen in this life, I’m still shocked by people and their capacity for cruelty. Naïve of me, really.”

Rey edged closer on the sofa. “What have you seen? What do you have nightmares about?”

Dread colored his face, a storm cloud blotting out the sun. He stood from the sofa, leaving her with only the lingering warmth on the fabric. “During the war, I was captain of a small lightship assigned to the southern coastline of the state. We were on constant watch for U-boats and mines but things were generally quiet. Then—it was a Tuesday afternoon in August—an explosion tore a huge opening in the hull. They were never able to determine what caused it. At the time, I assumed we’d been torpedoed, but there were no sightings of enemy activity in the sector that day. The final report suggested a malfunctioning boiler. Two men were killed by the initial explosion and three more drowned when the ship was lost.”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been terrifying.”

“In the moment, all I could think about was getting the men onto the life boats. We could hear them, the ones who drowned, calling for help. They were trapped in a compartment blocked by debris from the explosion. They could see the water rising and they knew what was about to happen. I got as many people evacuated as I could, then went down to try to help get them free. We could see them but we couldn’t reach them.” He looked up helplessly. “That’s what my nightmares are about.”

She knew what came next but he needed to say it. “Then what happened?”

“I should have given the order to abandon ship sooner but I couldn’t leave them behind without trying. It was ill-considered and reckless. As commander of the ship, I needed to be prepared to make the hard decisions. There was a second explosion, probably water pressure on the hull as it went down. That’s when I got this.” He gestured to his scar. “My first mate was standing next to me. He took the worst of the shrapnel. If he hadn’t stayed behind, I’d be dead. Instead, he is. I held him as he died. I fully intended to stay with the other three, go down with the ship, but I lost consciousness from the…the blood loss. When I came to, I was in the bottom of a life raft, being rescued by the cruiser that intercepted our distress call.”

“You feel responsible.” No wonder he hated the town calling him _captain_ everywhere he went, honoring him with it. Reminding him.

“I am responsible,” he snapped. “I was captain of the ship. Every one of those lives was in my charge. Six of them didn’t make it back, to their hometowns or their mothers, or beautiful girls with kind eyes willing to overlook their mistakes.”

Rey stood up from the sofa, keeping the blanket close around her like a shawl. “So you feel responsible _and_ guilty because you’re still alive. Surviving wasn’t a mistake. You don’t need my forgiveness. You need to forgive yourself.”

She reached out, tracing the scar slowly from brow to collarbone. His eyes drifted closed at her touch. “I know you said you took this position because you liked the solitude but I wonder if it was also some sort of punishment—sending yourself into exile to atone for your sins. You’re allowed to be alive, Ben, and glad about it. But maybe you already figured that out for yourself.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, you told your mother you expected to live and die here, alone. Obviously that plan changed.”

“Because of you. You changed it.” He edged closer, leaning into her palm. “You made me feel hope, for the first time in as long as I can remember.”

“You made me feel the same way. Like I could actually mean something, matter to somebody. Not be alone anymore.”

The blanket slipped forgotten to the floor as he kissed her again and again, making her head swim. It was so different than the day on the gallery deck, not gentle or polite. “I don’t want to wait three months,” she pleaded against his lips.

“Good,” he whispered, lifting her into his arms and moving toward the stairs. “That was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.”

~~~

The sun was due to crest the eastern horizon at precisely four o’clock the next morning. Rey woke to Ben easing his arm out from underneath her. “Don’t leave,” she mumbled.

“I have to, sweetheart, just for a bit. Go back to sleep.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and the mattress dipped, then rebounded, as he climbed out of the bed. It felt hideously empty the instant she was alone.

“I’ll come with you,” she slurred, struggling for consciousness in the still-dim room. “…want to help.”

He lifted the hair back from her neck so he could nuzzle the soft curve below her ear. “Don’t you dare move. I’ll be back in twenty minutes and I want you right here, waiting for me.” The implication made her shiver, even in the warm pocket of air under the covers.

“Feed BB,” she ordered, snuggling into the pillow. “He must be starved, poor darling.”

She felt his lips against her back. “Bossy little wife.”

_Too late to change your mind now_ , she wanted to tell him. But every part of her body was pleasantly leaden, dragging her back down to the murky depths of slumber.

Until she heard the bedroom door close.

As soon as the latch fastened, she came fully awake with an awful realization. She was a terrible partner, no help at all. Worse, she’d tried to persuade her new husband to shirk his duties on their very first morning together. He had started the light alone in the rain last night and now he was dousing it alone, while she rested in lazy comfort.

Ashamed, she got out of bed and searched for her nightgown. Ben must have found it on the floor and laid it over the corner chair on his way out. She flushed remembering how quickly she’d lost it once they arrived upstairs. There was a chest against the far wall that held spare linens and a pair of rather tatty quilts for the coldest winter nights. The whole pile smelled vaguely of camphor. Rey grabbed one of the quilts, wrapped it tightly around herself and headed for the front door.

She meant to make her way to the tower but the view from the front porch was arresting. The sky was a perfect ladder of color—pink fading to peach bleeding to gold flowing to cream—with a lacing of nearly purple clouds threaded through it all. Then the sun erupted over the horizon, setting the ocean ablaze. The lantern went dark as all the seabirds seemed to rouse at once, their high-pitched cries audible over the steady thunder of the waves. It was heaven on earth.

By the time Ben emerged, she was sitting on the porch steps, cocooned in the heavy blanket. He claimed the riser behind her, crushing her to his chest. “I thought you were going to keep the bed warm for me,” he breathed into her hair.

“I brought the warm—and the bed—to you, instead,” she giggled. “I realized I’d have to do better if I was going to persuade you to keep me, keeper.”

“That ship has sailed, as the saying goes.” His fingers were cold where they slipped past the edges of the quilt. She squirmed and puffed in protest but to no avail.

“Are you sorry? That we didn’t wait,” he asked quietly, lips dragging on the soft lobe of her ear.

She tipped her head back and curved an arm around his neck, to pull him forward into a kiss. “Not even a little.”

“You and I are going to get a reputation if we don’t stop making public spectacles of ourselves,” he teased, but his fingers never stopped searching for warmer terrain to map.

Rey rolled her eyes in mock disgust. “Horrifying, to be accused of loving one’s own husband. However will I recover from the shame of it?” 

He went very still. “Do you? Love me?”

“I do,” she admitted. “Is that alright?”

“Alright?” he asked, incredulous. “I’ve been smitten with you ever since you showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, declaiming Keats. I never imagined you could feel the same.”

“Then you are a very foolish man, Benjamin Solo.” She twisted on the step, burrowing deeper into his embrace. “And as penance for your foolishness, you must recite _me_ a poem.”

He chuckled. “A poem, eh?”

“Someone told me once this place lends itself to poetry, and I agree.”

“I’ll give you part of a poem,” he conceded, pecking the tip of her nose. He pitched his voice lower and recited:

“ _I turn away reluctant from your light,_

_And stand irresolute, a mind undone,_

_A silly, dazzled thing deprived of sight_

_From having looked too long upon the sun._ ”

“Beautiful,” she exhaled. Ben nodded, not meaning the same thing at all.

“What would you like to do on your first full day of married life?” he asked.

“Hmm, let’s see. I think we should have breakfast. Then take care of the lighthouse, obviously. We could have a picnic lunch, let BB get a taste of the great outdoors. Later we might take a walk by the water. Rose told me about something called Mermaid Tears and I’m keen to look…why are you smiling like that?”

“No reason in particular,” he demurred.

“Does that sound like a ridiculous waste of a day?” The sun was climbing higher, the air warming. She might not mind getting up so absurdly early.

“It sounds perfect. On one condition.”

“I see. And just what is your one condition?”

“That at the end of our day, I get to fall asleep with you in my arms again.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Solo. But I accept your terms.”

“I told you we’d be good companions, Miss Jo—excuse me, Mrs. Solo.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she teased, playfully kissing his cheek. He took the opportunity to pull her into his lap.

“Can you really be happy here, with me?” His eyes were so vulnerable. But someday—maybe years from now, maybe hours—that uncertainty would finally burn away, like mist in the morning, leaving behind only the steady beacon of their love. A safe harbor, always welcoming.

All these years, Rey thought she’d been waiting for a home. Now she understood she wanted to build one. Be one.

“I already am,” she promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheat #1: Clara Bow’s first movie came out in 1923. Her famous film “It” didn’t come out until 1927, though the slang term itself was in use as early as the turn of the century. (I debated referencing Theda Bara, a.k.a. The Vamp, the first real sex symbol of the silent film era, but Clara Bow is much better known today.)
> 
> Cheat #2: Edna St. Vincent Millay—born and raised in Maine—first published “When I too long have looked upon your face,” in _Second April_ (1921).
> 
> Yes, you can actually look up precise sunrise/sunset times (among other things) for any part of Maine in the 1920s. The Internet, amirite?!
> 
> Here it is, [your moment of zen.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oETYjRxFr8I)


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